


Arcadia for Amateurs VI

by charlock221



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Angst, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Road Trips, Romance, Slow Burn, Violence, obligatory misunderstandings, two idiots in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-11 20:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17453429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlock221/pseuds/charlock221
Summary: 'Arthur’s keen eyes watched him with anticipation, “You know, this trip I’m planning,” he began, and Albert hummed in response, “I’ve uh – heard tell of a special kind of buck, just north of Strawberry, and I’m hoping to find it.”“Is that so?” Albert mused, interest sparking in his voice.“And I… well, I’d be glad for the company if you can spare a few days.”“You would have me come along?” the photographer asked.'---When Arthur encounters Albert Mason working in a photography studio in Saint Denis, he resolves to help him get out of his mental slump.Spoilers up to 'The Gilded Cage' in Chapter 4.





	1. Saint Denis (Part 1)

It started with a challenge. A stupid, senseless challenge that Arthur’s drunk alter-ego had eagerly accepted: down a pint of beer before Sadie.

Easy. He’d downed plenty of beers in the past.

“Like sippin’ water,” he slurred, raising his glass to Sadie. She grinned and raised hers too. Joining them at their table in one of the seedier saloons of Saint Denis, Lenny leaned forward in anticipation whilst Charles shook his head, smiling to himself.

“Lenny, you count us,” Sadie said, her determined eyes never straying from Arthur’s.

“Three, two, one, go!”

It was easy.

It was _supposed_ to be easy.

Arthur had forgotten that Sadie was a damn cheat.

As he closed his eyes and began to drink, he felt something brush against his leg under the table, sliding ever so slowly upwards. He choked and spluttered, and Sadie brandished her empty glass with a victorious shout, letting Lenny grab her free hand and lift it in the air.

“The winner!”

Arthur wiped beer from his chin, “ _Cheat,_ ” he growled, and Sadie laughed.

“I don’t remember you suggestin’ any rules,” she answered. “Ain’t my fault you ain’t a creative thinker.”

“Creative thinker,” he groused, “Charles, help me out here.”

Charles held up his hands, “I’m not getting involved in this game of yours.”

“Lenny.”

Lenny laughed, shaking his head, “I saw Mrs. Adler empty her glass first, I say she’s the winner.”

“Bunch o’ cowards,” Arthur muttered, getting to his feet, “I don’t know when she got you both under her thumb, but I do not appreciate being betrayed by my friends.”

“Arthur, wait,” Sadie called, and he heard the seriousness in her tone. He turned, leaning on his chair in order to stay upright, and waited for his deserved apology.

“I haven’t decided your forfeit yet.”

“ _Forfeit_?” he yelled, startling the patrons around them, “Since when was there a forfeit?”

“Since you said, ‘winner chooses a forfeit, ya hear?’” she responded, imitating him with a deep voice.

“I said that?” Arthur asked, frowning as he tried to remember. He recalled a surge of arrogance as Sadie suggested the challenge, and it did seem like something he would say. He glanced at Charles, “I said that?”

“Yes, you did.”

Damn his big mouth.

“Well, what’s the forfeit?”

The corner of Sadie’s mouth rose, and Arthur did not like that devilish smirk one bit. “You see the studio we passed on the way here?”

Arthur didn’t even know how they had gotten there, “Yes,” he said anyway.

“Well tomorrow morning, me and you are gonna go there, and you’re gonna get your picture taken.”

Arthur watched her warily, waiting for more. Charles and Lenny, too, looked a little disappointed, “That’s it?” he asked.

“No. You’re gonna wear that fancy suit you wore to the Mayor’s house.”

Lenny immediately started cackling, rocking back in his chair as Arthur slumped into his own, “No,” he groaned, holding his head in his hands.

“And I’m gonna treasure that photograph 'til I’m lyin' on my deathbed.”

He felt Charles’ hand on his shoulder, “Could be worse.”

It could’ve. But Arthur knew Sadie was going to tease him about it every chance she got. And he wouldn’t be surprised if she showed it to anyone and everyone, relishing the consequent red tint of Arthur’s cheeks.

“Don’t be such a baby, Arthur. I’m goin’ easy on you.”

“I think I would prefer it if you didn’t.”

Sadie chuckled, rising from her chair, “No you wouldn’t. Now come on boys, Arthur’s gotta get up bright and early tomorrow. Can’t have him skippin’ out on his beauty sleep.”

Lenny was still laughing as the four of them stumbled out of the saloon, and as the crisp night air cleared Arthur’s mind, his mood lifted. It really wasn’t so terrible a forfeit. He’d survive.

 

* * *

  

As the unforgiving morning sun threatened to blind him, Arthur sighed, his merriment from the night before vanishing. Standing outside _Marcel Beliveau’s Photographic Studio_ , he stared dead ahead as Sadie fixed his white bowtie.

“You fight right in around here, Mr. Morgan,” Sadie noted, standing back and looking him up and down. He adjusted his jacket, grimacing at the tightness around his shoulders. It felt as though every passer-by was giving him a curious look, as if they knew he didn’t belong in a nice suit.

“City of snakes,” he muttered.

“And there ain’t nothin’ dangerous about you?” she countered, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows.

“I ain’t a snake,” he groused as they crossed the street.

“But you sure have a sharp bite.”

A bell tinkled as they entered the empty studio, and Arthur took in the sickly green wallpaper and numerous photographs adorned on the wall with a dubious look. He noticed Sadie looking at him with a pleased expression, and he rolled his eyes, folding his arms and hunching into himself.

“You’re gonna look _precious_ ,” Sadie whispered, and before he could retort, a voice interrupted them from behind the decorative backdrop.

“Ah! Good morning, good morning, I – _Mr. Morgan_?”

Arthur twisted his neck at the familiar voice, and he blinked at the sight of Albert Mason stood at the back of the room, looking equally confused. He was not wearing his usual clothes; instead a dark jacket covered a forest-green waistcoat, and his beige pants had been swapped for ones that matched the color of the jacket. He was clutching a camera, and as he stepped forward he looked from Arthur to Sadie.

“Mr. Mason,” Arthur acknowledged, trying not to let his surprise bleed into his voice, “Thought you was in New York.”

“It, um, it didn’t suit me,” he responded, dazed, “Are you here for a photograph? You look quite splendid. Not – not that your _usual_ attire isn’t, um–”

“Yes, he is.” Sadie stepped in, clutching Arthur’s arm and squeezing it to prompt a response.

“Yes.” he contributed.

“Wonderful! Simply step here, then, while I set up.” He gestured to a spot in the center of the room, in front of the backdrop, and Albert moved closer to Sadie.

“Oh, where are my manners? Albert Mason, at your service.”

“Sadie Adler,” she replied warmly, shaking his extended hand, “You know Arthur?”

“We’ve met,” Arthur responded gruffly.

“We certainly have, and this gentleman has saved my foolish skin more than once.”

“Saved you? From photography?”

Albert laughed as he began setting up his camera, “Not recently. I’ve been working for Monsieur Beliveau while he seeks to extend his business elsewhere, and I do believe I’m quite safe in this studio.” He blushed as Arthur chuckled. “But I… _dabbled_ as a wildlife photographer, you see, and once or twice Mr. Morgan had to prevent my demise at the hands of nature’s predators.”

“Like wolves.”

“Yes, and alligators,” Albert conceded.

“And clifftops.”

“And… yes, my own clumsiness.”

Sadie listened to them both with raised eyebrows, “Didn’t realise photography came with so many occupational hazards.”

Albert smiled wanly, “Yes, well, that’s why you’ve met me here. I don’t believe I shall be tempting fate again any time soon.”

Arthur watched him with an interested eye as Albert finished setting the camera up.

“Are you satisfied with the backdrop?”  Albert asked, and Arthur twisted to glance at the image of a ballroom, the cream colors promoting extravagance and wealth. He glanced back at Sadie.

“It’s perfect,” she said, sounding smug.

“Splendid,” Albert leaned into the camera and raised the flash bulb, “Smile.”

Arthur did not.

“Arthur,” Sadie chided, “ _Smile_.”

The cowboy gritted his teeth and looked at Albert, who was waiting expectantly. He raised his head above the camera.

“Everything alright, Mr. Morgan?”

“Yeah. Peachy,” he muttered, trying to stand comfortably.

“Keep still,” Albert said absentmindedly, focusing again.

Arthur rested his hands on his hips. He moved them to his belt. And then he folded his arms.

“ _Arthur_.” Sadie sighed.

“I do believe you’re harder to capture than wild horses,” Albert said, stepping in front of the camera and over to Arthur. He tugged at the man’s arms until they relaxed, and placed them at his side. Then he grasped Arthur’s shoulders and turned him ever so slightly towards the camera.

“Loosen your shoulders,” Albert murmured, and Arthur tried to oblige. “Feet apart. Not that much.” The photographer looked back up at him, “Deep breath. And don’t look so worried.”

“This suit don’t fit right.”

“I assure you, it does. Tell me you come from a wealthy family and I’d believe you.”

“Or new money from New York?” he asked wryly, and Albert huffed a laugh.

“Yes. Quite.” He returned to the camera and readied the flash bulb again, “Now,” he said softly, “ _smile_.”

Arthur smiled, and the bulb flashed.

“Was that so hard?” Sadie asked from the door, and Arthur was forced to remember she was the reason he was there in the first place.

Albert seemed to have forgotten she was there too, as he quickly turned to face her, “Miss Adler, would you like a photograph taken, also?”

Arthur was about to interrupt to tell him it wasn’t ‘Miss’ Adler, but Sadie spoke first, “Thank you, Mr. Mason, but that ain’t necessary. Besides, I ain’t wearin’ an appropriate dress for a setting as elegant as that one.” She gestured to the backdrop Arthur was still standing in front of.

“I have costumes!” Albert countered, “Wonderful dresses donated to me by someone who no longer needs them. I took them with me from New York. Now, imagine the surprise of the official who had to search my belongings before I boarded the boat, only to discover a bag full of dresses.” While Sadie laughed, Arthur considered this new information. He had taken Albert for a solitary figure, not as a man with a lady waiting for him at home. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt… disappointed.

“I’m sure they are wonderful, but I really must decline. We was here for Arthur’s picture, and that’s it.”

Albert conceded with a bow of his head, “As you wish. The picture in question, I’m afraid, will take a few days to prepare. Come back then and either myself or Monsieur Beliveau will give it to you.”

“We will, Mr. Mason, thank you.” She looked to Arthur, ready to leave, but he shook his head.

“You go ready the horses while I pay Mr. Mason. Won’t be two minutes.”

Sadie nodded, and as she left Albert said, “A pleasure meeting you!”, to which Sadie grinned and waved.

Arthur ambled over to Albert, drawing his wallet out. “Thought you’d had enough of, uh, what was it? _Pompous middle-class burghers_. Why you takin’ their pictures?”

Albert shrugged, sighing slightly, “As I said, I prefer not to tempt fate, and a man must make a living somehow.”

“Didn’t take you for the sort to give up so easily.” Arthur mused, handing over the cash.

“If I recall correctly, you had to aid me five times, and save me more than once. That’s as strong a message that I’m on the wrong path as any, I suppose.”

“I read about your exhibition, in the paper.”

“You did? Well, yes, it was rather exciting. People seemed to like the photos. I only hope they achieve their purpose of raising awareness for the poor creatures. Dangerous as they are, they’re still beautiful.”

“Even the horses?”

Albert laughed, “ _Especially_ the horses. I’ve been thrown from mine more times than I care to remember.”

Arthur chuckled as he headed for the door, “You’re really somethin’, Mr. Mason. I’ll be back for that photograph.”

“I look forward to it, Mr. Morgan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, this is my first time writing for this fandom, but RDR2 and more specifically, these two idiots, have consumed meeeee. Next chapter will be up soon!


	2. Saint Denis (Part 2)

A week passed until Arthur was able to return to the photography studio. What with the business with Angelo Bronte, and Dutch’s insistence on raising money for their escape, Arthur had had little to no spare time, and all thoughts of Albert Mason had been pushed aside.

It wasn’t until one Friday morning when he was resting outside that he remembered the photographer. Sadie walked past him, giving him a wink, which triggered the memory of their drunken competition in the Saint Denis saloon and the subsequent forfeit, and he decided then and there to collect that damned photograph and pay Mr. Mason a visit.

As he pushed open the door to the studio, he waited for Albert or Monsieur Beliveau to respond to the tinkle of the bell, but no one appeared.

“’Lo?” he called hesitantly, moving over to the decorative backdrop and peering behind it, “Anyone here?” There was one closed door and he threw it open to reveal a small office. A typewriter sat on a table near a window, and the shelves around the room were adorned with untidy files.

“Mr. Mason?”

There was no one in the building, and Arthur grumbled to himself about a wasted trip as he left the studio and marched towards where his horse was hitched outside the cemetery.

“Ah! Blast it!”

He had come to recognize that voice anywhere, and as Arthur entered the cemetery through the imposing iron gates he was presented with the sight of Albert Mason crouched behind a grave, his camera's tripod precariously balanced on the uneven terrain as he focused on something out of Arthur’s sight. Not wanting to spook whatever creature Albert had his sights on, Arthur crept up behind him and waited.

A fox appeared from between two graves a few feet away, padding slowly across the grass and sniffing at the ground. Albert whistled loudly and the fox briefly raised its head in their direction before scampering away, but a loud sizzle and bright light from the flash powder indicated that Albert was quick enough in taking the photograph. He hummed happily to himself as he stood, and Arthur rose behind him.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Oh!” Albert spun quickly and stumbled backwards, about to topple over the very grave he had been crouching behind had Arthur not gripped his jacket and yanked him closer.

“Mr. Morgan!” Albert gasped, “You do so enjoy sneaking up on me, don’t you?”

“I can’t help it if you’re oblivious to everythin’ around you. I came for my photograph, but there weren’t no one inside.”

“Oh goodness, did I leave it unlocked again? Monsieur Beliveau will have my head if he finds out.” Albert quickly gathered up his camera and tripod and hurried across the street, Arthur following behind him. “I couldn’t help it, I saw the fox from the window and had to take a picture. Did you see its coat? What a beautiful colour!”

“Gray?” Arthur asked dubiously as they stepped into the studio.

“ _Silver._  Almost like a spirit, passing gracefully through the gravestones, don’t you think?”

“If you say so.”

“I only planned to be a moment or two, I fear the time got away from me,” Albert said, glancing at his pocket watch, “We’ve not had any clients all morning so I thought it wouldn’t hurt to leave the studio while I nipped out, and I’ve been so dreadfully bored – well, none of that matters I suppose. A job is a job, after all!” The photographer had gone from making excuses to berating himself so quickly Arthur had difficulty following his train of thought.

“I just came for the photograph, Mr. Mason, then I’ll be on my way,” he repeated as Albert returned the camera to the center of the room.

“Photograph? From last week? Why, you’re companion, Miss Adler, collected it just the other day. Didn’t she tell you?”

“No,” Arthur muttered, and he had a feeling she’d done it deliberately. After they’d returned from studio Sadie had asked all sorts of questions about Albert, wanting to know specifically how he and Arthur knew each other. She’d only dropped it when Arthur had gruffly told her to leave him alone, and she backed off with a, “Just wanted to know a bit more about your friend, Arthur, he seemed a nice man.”

“He ain’t my friend,” he’d snapped back.

“Maybe he should be,” she had retorted, before finally leaving him alone.

“Well I’m sorry for a wasted journey, Mr. Morgan,” Albert said, sounding regretful. “I was about to make some tea, though, you’re welcome to stay if you like?”

“That’s real kind, Mr. Mason, but I gotta go. Plannin’ a trip, you see, and I need to pick up some supplies.” The truth was he wanted to get away from Lemoyne for a few days, away from Shady Belle and the heavy, tense atmosphere that had settled around camp.

“Oh. Well, that sounds exciting,” Albert said with a smile, though his cheerfulness didn’t quite reach his eyes, “I shall, ah, return to my duties, I think. Yes, there are some pictures that need developing, that I should really be attending to.”

“Not to mention the one of that fox.” Arthur added.

“Precisely,” Albert said with a short laugh. He looked about the studio as if he wasn’t sure what to do next, and Arthur regarded him with a slight frown.

“You know, I still got that picture you gave me, of the wolves.” He rummaged in his satchel and withdrew his journal, pulling the photo from its pages.

“Do you really? I didn’t expect you to keep it,” Albert said, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. He took the photo from Arthur and studied it, “What an experience that was, hmm? Yet another feat of stupidity all for the sake of one picture.”

Arthur shifted, “It’s a beautiful picture,” he mumbled. Albert was still gazing at it, a strange expression on his face.

“There’s nothing quite like it,” he muttered, and Arthur got the sense he was talking to himself. All of a sudden he drew in a sharp breath and looked up at Arthur, as if remembering he was not alone. He handed back the photograph, “I shan’t keep you, Mr. Morgan, as delightful as it has been seeing you again. You must drop by often, to keep my sanity in check if nothing else.”

“I would like that,” Arthur accepted, smiling at the way Albert perked up.

“Marvellous! Well I’m sure you can see yourself out, sir, I really must continue working. Good day!” With that, he dashed into the back office, shutting the door behind him and leaving Arthur by himself. Shaking his head at the photographer’s antics Arthur headed for the door, but he paused with one hand on the handle, a thought occurring to him. After a few more moments, he retreated and headed towards the office, cracking open the door and peering in.

Albert was seated at the desk in front of the typewriter, with his head in one hand while he stared out of the window, his fingers clenched around his dark hair, his expression sorrowful. Arthur felt a twinge of sympathy as he opened the door wider and stepped into the room.

“Mr. Mason, you seem to me a caged bird.”

Albert startled and sat upright, but when he saw it was Arthur he relaxed, huffing a laugh and smiling tiredly, “Nothing quite so tragic, I think.”

“Looks to me like you ain't happy here." When Albert didn't respond, he continued, "Why stay?”

“One must live through unsatisfactory periods of his life in order to achieve happiness, don’t you agree?”

“I do not think _you_ agree.”

“No, no, sir. This is merely an… _interlude_.”

“Well, what are you gonna do next?”

Albert fell quiet. His eyes flickered to the window before landing on Arthur, “I… haven’t thought that far ahead yet. Rather foolish of me, I suppose.”

“You ain’t gonna go back to wildlife?” he asked, unconvinced.

“No,” Albert said with a laugh, “I’ve accepted that life never suited me; I’m such a klutz I put my own safety at risk. Laughable, really,” he muttered.

“You ain’t _that_ stupid,” Arthur argued, feeling the need to defend the man from himself, “You just... get caught up in your work. That ain’t a bad thing.”

“It is when my _work_ is vicious predators!” Albert protested, his voice rising, “Do you know why I came back from New York? It was because I couldn’t _stand_ living in such a heartless, filthy, smoke-filled city full of people who cared only for themselves and never engaged with their fellow neighbor! I was losing my mind, losing _myself_ and I had to get out!”

He took a breath and Arthur stayed silent, watching him with a surprised expression and knowing the man wasn’t finished.

“So I did. I got on that boat, I returned to New Hanover, I started taking photographs again, and I – I was happy!” He scrubbed a hand over his beard, his tone quieting, “And do you know what happened?”

“No,” Arthur said, subdued.

“I got bitten by a snake! The devil got to my ankle, and I was only lucky some kind stranger helped me to a doctor, otherwise I would have been done for. I found myself here in Saint Denis, and so I have stayed, accepting that I simply do not possess the disposition required to capture the marvels of nature.” He slumped into his chair with a heavy sigh, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead. “Why are you laughing?” he asked wearily, hearing Arthur’s chuckles.

“You are perhaps the unluckiest man I have ever known.” Arthur said, shaking his head.

Albert smiled at that, rolling his eyes, “I daren’t imagine what I have done in a previous life to deserve a fate as ironic as mine.”

“The photographer who can’t take pictures.”

“Exactly!” he exclaimed with a laugh, “Ridiculous!”

Arthur’s keen eyes watched him with anticipation, “You know, this trip I’m planning,” he began, and Albert hummed in response, “I’ve uh – heard tell of a special kind of buck, just north of Strawberry, and I’m hoping to find it.”

“Is that so?” Albert mused, interest sparking in his voice.

“And I… well, I’d be glad for the company if you can spare a couple of days.”

“You would have me come along?” the photographer asked, straightening in his chair as eagerness bled into his tone.

“Sure,” he said, “I could, uh, offer some protection if you wished to take pictures of any–”

“There are cougars north of Strawberry!”

“–boars,” Arthur finished lamely, blinking at Albert’s interruption, “There are cougars, yes.”

“You know, I’ve always wanted to capture a cougar, to immortalize the beast as she stalks her prey.” There was a wild look in Albert’s eye, and Arthur began to wonder if he’d made the right decision.

“You understand that we’d be the prey in that scenario, don’t you?”

“Not with my bag of meat!”

“Your…” Arthur sighed, “I’d forgotten about your...  _bag of meat_.”

“Oh, Mr. Morgan, you have no idea how unbelievably happy you have made me.” He leapt to his feet and darted over to Arthur, shaking the other man’s hand profusely. “I – I shall need a day to gather my things – and a horse! – but then I am yours.”

“That’s swell,” Arthur answered, prising his hand from Albert’s grip. “You know where Rhodes is? Meet me there in two days’ time, and don’t forget your camera.” He headed towards the door, smiling at Albert’s enthusiasm.

“Or my meat bag!”

“Don’t – don’t bring the meat bag. We’ll catch bait closer to the time. I’ll, uh, see you in two days.” He darted out of the studio, Albert’s calls of, “a gentleman, a true gentleman!” following him.

 

* * *

 

 

When the day of departure arrived, Sadie Adler cornered him as he was saddling his horse.

“Where ya off to?” she asked.

Arthur eyed her suspiciously, “North. Big Valley, in West Elizabeth,” he said.

“Oh, well if you want some company for part of that journey, I got some business in Valentine to take care of?”

“Nah. Got some.”

“Oh?” Sadie glanced back at the camp, “Marston?”

“No. Not the gang. I’m goin’ with, uh, with Mr. Mason.”

During the long silence that followed, Arthur kept his eyes steadfastly on his horse.

“The photographer?” she asked innocently. Arthur hummed. “That kinda trip will take a couple o’ days, won’t it?”

“Yup.”

Sadie nodded slowly, thinking, “Ain’t really the sort of trip you take with someone who ain’t your friend.”

Arthur sighed, glaring at Sadie, “You got a point?”

Sadie smiled patting Arthur’s arm, “Nope,” she said with a grin, letting everything she wasn’t saying glint mischievously in her eyes.

“Get outta here, will ya?” he groused, mounting his horse.

“Betcha glad you lost that bet now, eh?” she called after him, and Arthur smiled to himself. He sure was.


	3. The Heartlands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely response to this story! I really appreciate all the comments and kudos,, I hope you enjoy this chapter :D
> 
> Next one up soon

As arranged, Albert was waiting for him in Rhodes, perched on top of a chestnut horse and leaning down to fiddle with a saddlebag. Arthur noticed how he seemed more at ease in the open environment, or perhaps it was because he was back in his usual attire. Arthur hadn’t realized how fond he was of that straw boater until he saw it again. As he approached, Albert gave him a wave, and after a few exchanged words their journey began.

“Fine morning, isn’t it?” Albert commented as they rode, “A good omen, I do believe.”

Arthur hummed, “If you say so.”

“Do you know, when we first met, I was there for cougars? Couldn’t find any, of course, which is why you found me settling for a coyote.”

“You weren’t far enough north,” Arthur said.

“Ah. Well, I’m glad for that now. I’m bound to have more luck now that I’m with you.” He shifted in his saddle, “How far is it, exactly?”

“Day or so, I reckon. We’ll make camp once we’re near Strawberry. That way, we’ll get the whole day tomorrow to find the buck.”

“And a cougar.”

Arthur sighed, “And a cougar. We’ll be there soon enough.”

That was not true. In planning the route, Arthur hadn’t taken into account Albert’s desire to photograph anything and everything they passed, and most of them weren't even predators. A herd of deer. A badger. A timber rattlesnake (taken very far away, Arthur noted with amusement).

“You’ve already got a picture of horses.” he argued at one point, watching from his own steed as Albert hurriedly set up his camera for the tenth time.

“Yes, but that’s a _mustang_!” he said excitedly, and Arthur leaned forward on his saddle, idly patting his horse’s neck as he resigned himself to waiting yet again.

“Are you peckish?” Albert asked some time later, once he was finished.

“No.”

“Oh. Well, um, could we perhaps rest for a few minutes? I fear my legs are not as accustomed as yours are to spending hours on a saddle.”

They’d been riding for an hour or so and had only made it to the Heartlands. Arthur tried not to let his disbelief show on his face, and he conceded that Albert was correct; he could believe the man rarely took long journeys on horseback; he probably boarded a train or hired a stagecoach instead.

“Yeah. Sure.” Arthur said, sliding off his horse and ambling over to where Albert was dissembling his camera and storing it in his saddlebag. When he pulled out a packet of biscuits, Arthur raised his eyebrows.

“If you’re tired already, then that definitely ain’t gonna sustain ya until we get to Strawberry.”

Albert looked down at the packet, “Well this is all I have in terms of a quick meal. I’m sure it’ll do.”

Arthur snatched it out of his hands, “No it won’t. You know how to make a fire? Make one.” He strode back to his horse and removed his varmint rifle, accepting that this trip was going to be _a lot_ longer than he’d anticipated and choosing to just go with it, instead of getting frustrated like he was close to being.

He stuffed the biscuits in his bag as he turned to see Albert staring at him, an unintelligible look on his face.

“Fire, Mr. Mason,” he prompted, and Albert jumped at his words, looking about him for firewood.

“Ah! Yes. Fire. I can do that.” He marched about the grass, collecting twigs and sticks. It was going to be a measly fire, but it would do.

Arthur waited nearby while Albert assembled the wood and once done, he stepped forward and offered some flint and steel, which Albert took with an appreciative smile. Small flames licked the air and Albert jumped as the outlaw cocked his rifle.

“You hunt?”

“Hunt?” Albert turned to look up at him, his eyes falling on the gun, “Uh – not, no. I, I don’t–”

“What did you eat when you were out here lookin’ for animals?”

“I – I’d go to the butcher and buy prepared meat.”

Arthur chuckled, “Well, today you’re learnin’ to do it yourself.” He patted Albert on the shoulder and began striding away, “Come on, Mr. Mason!” he called.

He could hear Albert stumbling to his feet and following behind him, “I really don’t think it’s necessary to teach me, you know. You – you seem more than competent.”

“I ain’t always gonna be around to catch your meals.”

“I don’t expect you to. Like I said, I can buy perfectly adequate meat from–”

“Quicker and fresher this way.”

“Only marginally. It really doesn’t bother me–”

“Shh, shh, shh,” Arthur whispered, grabbing Albert’s arm and pulling him into a crouch, “See the rabbits?”

“Yes,” Albert murmured reluctantly.

He pushed the rifle into the photographer’s chest, “Shoot one.”

Albert shot him an anxious look, “I can’t.”

“Yeah you can. Here,” Still speaking lowly so as not to spook the animals grazing several feet away, Arthur shuffled closer, holding the rifle up, “Rest it against your shoulder. One hand here, underneath. Other hand over the trigger. Line up with the rabbits. Stop shaking.”

“ _I can’t_ ,” Albert repeated through gritted teeth.

“It’s them or you. Come on.”

“A few rabbits are not going to threaten my existence,” he hissed.

“ _I_ am if you ain’t gonna do anythin’. _Shoot_.”

“No!” He raised his voice and sat back, his actions spooking the rabbits. The pair watched them scurry out of sight, and Arthur growled as he got to his feet, snatching the rifle from the photographer’s slack grip.

“Ain’t much difference in huntin’ and skinnin’ a rabbit, and buying one that’s already skinned,” he snapped.

“I am not going to kill one if it isn’t necessary,” Albert said quietly.

“It’s _necessary_ that you have a decent meal. Stay here.” He trudged away, not caring what Albert was doing behind him. He devoted the next half hour to tracking the rabbits, trying to calm his temper and catch some food, but he couldn’t focus, too caught up was he in thinking about what had happened. He didn’t want to be angry with Albert, but he hadn’t agreed to babysit a doe-eyed photographer as he experienced the wilderness. The man was clearly capable; he’d traversed the country in order to take pictures and had survived more or less unscathed so far, yet he seemed unwilling to shake the civility that had been bored into him by New York society.

Still stewing in his thoughts, he returned empty-handed to their makeshift camp and marched up to where Albert was sitting by the fire.

“You may think you’ve higher standards than me, Mason,” he said, “But all that don’t mean a thing out here.” He gestured to the open plains around them, “I hunt, I _kill_ because I need to, and sooner or later you’re gonna need to, too.”

“I don’t,” Albert muttered, his eyes on the fire in front of him, and Arthur was quick to cut him off.

“You do. This ain’t some romantic ideal you’ve read about,” His thoughts flickered to Dutch, to a book by Evelyn Miller that contained the phrase, _the purity of America’s landscapes_ , and his temper flared again, “It’s rough, it’s unforgivin’, it makes a man do things he–”

“I don’t think I have higher standards than you,” Albert interrupted, looking up at where Arthur towered over him and meeting his eye with a determined gaze, “You’re more a man than I could ever be. There are things you find natural that make me deeply uncomfortable, and I’m not sure I can change that.”

Arthur shook his head, heading for his horse, “Then maybe you’re right. Maybe you ain’t cut out to be a photographer.” He mounted up and watched Albert, waiting for him to do something. Eventually, the man got to his feet, put out the fire, and walked over to his own horse.

He smiled thinly at Arthur. “Perhaps,” was all he said before encouraging his horse onwards. Arthur sighed and followed, catching up quickly enough.

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean that,” he said.

“Yes, you did,” Albert replied good-naturedly, and he continued before Arthur could say anything, “But it’s alright. You only said what I already know.”

“It ain’t true, though. And I mean _that_.”

Albert didn’t respond, and the outlaw rummaged in his bag, “Here,” he said gruffly, “You didn’t actually eat anythin’.” He held out the packet of biscuits, and Albert merely glanced at them before looking straight ahead again.

“No thank you,” he said.

An uncomfortable silence followed, and it remained there for the next hour as they rode towards their destination. Arthur shot uneasy glances at the other man, but he received no response. Even as they passed foxes and squirrels and eagles, there were no requests to stop, despite Arthur pointing the creatures out.

As the sky began to darken Arthur made the decision to stop for the night. They had gotten as far as the Dakota River and the two of them made quick work of setting up the tents on the shingle. It was going to be uncomfortable to sleep on, but that was at the back of Arthur’s mind. He watched as Albert constructed another fire.

“I’ll get us some food,” he said, aiming to sound as nonchalant as possible, but Albert’s shoulders still tensed.

“Thank you,” he said softly, “I’m going to prepare some coffee. Care for some?”

“Sure.” Arthur acknowledged Albert’s nod and headed off, determined that this hunt would be successful. And it was. He killed two rabbits within a short time of leaving Albert, and he headed back with trepidation curling at the pit of his stomach, wondering whether the evening was going to be spent in terse silence like the rest of the day had been.

Albert raised his head when he heard Arthur returning, smiling slightly to see him approach. Arthur settled a little way away from the fire, laying the rabbits on the pebbles and unsheathing his hunting knife. A loud rattle of stones that grew closer made him look up, and he noted with some surprise that Albert had come over.

“Everythin’ alright?” he asked, a frown on his face.

“Yes, yes,” Albert said, one hand fiddling with the collar of his shirt, “I was just wondering, ah, would you – I mean, I completely understand if you won’t, but…”

“Spit it out,” Arthur said, his words harsher than he had intended them.

“Yes. Sorry. I just–” Albert’s eyes fell on the two rabbits, and he cleared his throat, “Will you… show me? How to, um…?” He gestured at the dead animals.

“Skin them?”

“Mmm-hmm.” He nodded, swallowing nervously, and Arthur kept to himself the observation that Albert wouldn’t even say ‘skin’. He recognized an olive branch when one was being offered.

“Sure,” he said, and a relieved smile flashed across Albert’s face.

“Splendid,” he replied weakly, crouching next to Arthur, the rim of his hat almost bumping into his head. He plucked it off the photographer, who looked about him wildly before seeing it in Arthur’s hand.

“Nearly took my eye out,” Arthur grumbled, placing it on the ground. “Here, take it.” He proffered the knife, and Albert accepted it, the weapon looking strange in the gentle man’s hand.

“Cut along the stomach first. One, neat line.” It was not neat, but it was a decent first attempt. As Arthur guided him through the process, he couldn’t ignore the proximity of Albert. With his head bent, the fresh scent of his dark hair lulled Arthur into a sense of comfort, and he felt all tension that had built up over the day slip from his shoulders. He found himself watching Albert’s face rather than the actions of his hands, observing the creases around the man’s eyes, how the late sun lightened his hazel eyes, the way his tongue touched his lips as he concentrated–

His thoughts abruptly cut off at the positive hum Albert emitted as he finished removing the skin from the rabbit carcass.

“Haha! Not quite so useless, eh?” He turned to Arthur, his face incredibly close, and blinked as if he hadn’t realized the other man was so near.

Arthur quickly got to his feet, holding out his hand for the carcass. “Not perfect,” he mused, examining the rabbit, “But adequate.”

“Adequate? Hmph! Well then, sir, this next one _will_ be perfect.”

“If you say so,” Arthur chuckled, trudging to the fire, “Once you’re done, I’ll show you where the best meat is on that one.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Albert muttered, already concentrating on the next rabbit. Arthur stood next to the fire, carcass in hand, unable to stop himself from watching the other man.

“Mr. Mason,” he called, and Albert hummed in response, looking up.

“Yes?”

“I am… glad you’re with me, you know,” he muttered. At Albert’s bright smile, he offered his own, smaller one.

“As am I, Mr. Morgan” he said warmly, “As am I.”


	4. Dakota River

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which a dumb cowboy continues to put his foot in it.

Arthur had been right; sleeping on pebbles had been a mistake. He groaned as he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and trying not to jostle his back too much. For a moment he couldn’t recall why he was waking in his tent, but a sharp yell from outside made him remember who else was with him, and he quickly burst through the tent flaps, revolver in hand, prepared to shoot anyone and everyone.

There was nobody there. Really, Arthur should have known that but he’d forgotten how much of a klutz his companion was. Albert Mason was splayed on the ground by the river, clutching his bare left foot, his face scrunched in pain.

“What happened?” Arthur asked, holstering his gun and marching over.

“I – I don’t know!” Albert raised himself on his arms, twisting his foot, “I was washing my feet in the river and something _bit_ me! Do you think it was a snake? Oh God, I think I can feel the venom inside me…”

Arthur looked to the river for any signs of a snake, but when he saw a small form frantically paddling across the water, he relaxed.

“You ain’t poisoned, Mr. Mason,” he said, kneeling and examining the man’s foot. “It was a muskrat. Nasty little critters, but their bite ain’t fatal.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” he breathed, slumping back onto the ground, “I feared that was the end.”

“Seems you’ve escaped death once more.”

“Ha. It must be a cruel joke, inflicted upon me by Mother Nature.”

“Warning you to return home?” Arthur offered a hand and Albert accepted it, letting the outlaw pull him to his feet.

“Something like that, yes.” Albert raised his leg, trying to see the wound, “Am I bleeding?”

“Horrendously.” At Albert’s squeak, he chuckled, “Just playin’ with ya. C’mere, I’ll help you clean it.” He held out his arm, intending for the photographer to lean on it, but Albert waved him away.

“That’s quite alright,” he said, hobbling to the water. “I am not so weak as to fall at the bite of one muskrat. I can walk.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” Albert said warmly, flashing him a smile. He waded into the river, wincing at the cool temperature. The water rushed around his bare legs, his pants rolled to his knees. He twisted his foot from side to side, shaking it slightly and causing ripples to ebb away from his position. He put his hands on his hips and looked out along the river, sighing happily.

“Nothing quite like it, eh, Mr. Morgan?”

Arthur remembered him muttering those words a few days previously, in that studio as he gazed at his photograph of wolves. He watched as Albert closed his eyes and smiled, his straw boater tipped back as the rays of the morning sun soaked his skin. As quietly as he could, Arthur stepped to where his satchel was placed in his tent, and he withdrew his camera. A sharp _thwump_ broke Albert from his reverie, and he opened his eyes and looked at Arthur, his brows rising when he saw the camera.

“There was a duck,” Arthur said dumbly, forgetting how loud the flash bulb and shutter were.

“You have a camera!” Albert exclaimed, pointing.

“Nothin’ as fancy as yours,” he called, putting it away. He heard Albert splashing through the water, and when he turned the man was settling down by the shore.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, swiping his thumb over his wound and rolling his pants back down. He reached for his boots.

“Wait, wait, wait, you gotta dress it,” Arthur said, striding over with his satchel in his hand.

“What? No, I don’t. It isn’t anything serious.”

“Yeah, but it will be if you just leave it. Quit movin’.” He grabbed the man’s ankle to prevent him from sliding away. He rummaged in his satchel and pulled out a pouch.

“Crushed yarrow,” he explained to Albert, reciting the advice Hosea had given to him when he was younger almost word for word. “Apply it to the affected area, then wrap it. You could boil the leaves and drink them for a faster effect, but this ain’t serious.” He patted the crushed plant over the small puncture wounds, and then rummaged in his satchel again.

“Bandages,” he continued, holding them up.

Albert smiled, “I think I know what bandages are for. I really don’t need them, though. It’s barely bleeding.”

“They ain’t to stop the bleedin’,” Arthur said, wrapping Albert’s foot. “They’ll keep the yarrow in place. You can wash ‘em off tonight.”

“I will, thank you.” The two of them stood up, and Albert’s eyes fell on Arthur’s satchel, his expression brightening, “You’re an amateur photographer?” he asked excitedly.

“That ain’t true,” Arthur said, “You eaten?”

“You can’t change the subject, sir! Is that why you’re tracking this buck? To take it’s picture?”

Arthur recalled the events of yesterday, of Albert’s vehemence towards hunting and killing animals, and the tense silence that choked the air between them for the rest of the day.

“Somethin’ like that,” he said.

“Well, why didn’t you say so? Have you any prints with you? May I see them?”

“I ain’t got them, no,” he lied. They were stuffed in the pages of his journal, reserved only for himself. “Now, eat. We’ll set off soon.”

“What do you photograph?” Albert trudged across the shingle, his boots back on his feet. He ducked into his tent, emerging with his own satchel.

Arthur shrugged, “This and that,” he answered vaguely.

Albert shot him a perceptive look, “Alright. Keep them to yourself. I shan’t pry.” He searched through his bag, a slight frown on his face, “Did you eat my biscuits?”

“No,” Arthur said, beginning to dissemble his tent, “They’re in my satchel. Near the river.”

He could hear Albert fumbling as he rolled up his bedroll, strapping it to his horse. When he received no chatter from the photographer he turned to see what was keeping him quiet.

Upon seeing Albert holding his journal, he started marching purposefully towards the other man.

He hadn’t opened it; rather Albert held it as if it was something valuable. It was impossible that he hadn’t seen the photographs poking out from the pages, and when he looked up at the sound of Arthur’s footsteps, he instinctively clutched the book to his chest, darting backwards.

“Don’t even think about it,” Arthur said, holding out his hand, “Give it here.”

“Just a peek, Mr. Morgan, a little peek,” he said, a teasing tone to his voice.

“No,” he responded, getting closer. He ignored the panic pulsing through him, praying the photographer wouldn’t open it. There were secrets in there he didn’t want him to learn. Albert continued to back away along the shore.

“They really can’t be so terrible. Nothing as embarrassing as mine, hmm?”

“I’m serious, Mason, hand it over.” He dropped the formalities, determination overcoming him.

“You deny this softer side to you and yet,” Albert brandished the journal, “I’m certain this contains the evidence needed to prove me correct.”

“ _Mason!_ ”

His tone was thunderous, the name reverberating off the high cliffs that surrounded them, startling Albert enough that he subsequently tripped and fell, and dropped the journal. Arthur’s heavy footfalls trudged closer and he snatched the book from the ground, snapping it shut from where it had fallen open. He glared at Albert, faltering only for a moment when he saw genuine fear flash in the other man’s eyes.

“A bit of fun, Mr. Morgan,” Albert said, subdued, drawing his knees up as if preparing to scrabble away, “Nothing more.”

“Well I don’t find it funny,” he growled, “Why don’t you mind your own damn business?”

Albert cleared his throat, “You’re right: I took it too far. I’m sorry.” He got to his feet and hurried over to his tent, quickly dismantling it. Arthur sighed, rubbing his temples. He knew he couldn’t let his guard down around Albert, as much as he wanted to. He was a wanted man, and while a trip like this was a welcome distraction from the responsibilities he held to the gang, he had to remind himself that this was a temporary thing. _Albert_ was a temporary thing. He’d meant what he said to Sadie, Albert wasn’t his friend. He couldn’t be.

And he _definitely_ wasn’t going to entertain thoughts of being… more than friends with Albert, no matter how much his mind liked to taunt him with such fantasies. It was a side of himself he’d kept hidden for a very long time, unnatural and repulsive as it was. Albert didn’t deserve to be burdened with a man such as Arthur. A man who had killed – would likely kill again – and whose past it seemed was catching up with him. Albert was a better man than he would ever be, and he wasn’t going to allow himself to defile him.

Besides, Arthur hadn’t forgotten about Albert’s comment back in the studio when he’d had his picture taken. There was a woman waiting for him back in New York, a woman who had donated unwanted dresses to be used as props. A woman of high position, if the dresses were suitable enough for an extravagant backdrop. Arthur never stood a chance, and really, that was for the best.

Looking at him now, Arthur hated how he could make Albert’s mood topple, how unintentionally easy it was to ruin their friendly camaraderie. He glanced down at his journal and opened it to one of the pages.

“I ain’t much of a photographer,” he began, his voice gruff. Albert lifted his head when he started talking, but quickly focused attention back to his task. When he heard Arthur coming closer, he stilled.

“But I suppose you could consider me an… amateur artist.” He offered the journal, and Albert took it warily. When he looked at the pages, he froze.

It was a sketch of the day Arthur had helped him photograph alligators. After their encounter, Arthur had sat under a tree at camp and drawn the memory, smiling at the way Albert had enthusiastically spoken of the fierce predators.

“It ain’t nothin’ worthy of a gallery, but I thought you might appreciate…” He trailed off, not ready to voice what he was thinking. Albert was still staring at it, and Arthur cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. He leaned forward a little, trying to catch a glimpse of the photographer’s expression. Albert must have seen the movement out of the corner of his eye, for he shot Arthur a brief smile before his gaze was drawn back to the sketch.

“You’ve rendered me quite speechless, Mr. Morgan,” he said, his voice thick.

“Oh. Sorry.”

Albert choked a laugh, “You needn’t be. This is… remarkable.” He closed the journal softly and handed it to Arthur, “You are full of surprises, you know.”

“And not always good ones,” Arthur conceded, “I’m the one who should be apologisin’. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

Albert shook his head, waving his hand, “It’s forgotten. If you’re ready, we can set off now?”

Arthur didn’t think he deserved such steadfast forgiveness. As they finished packing and mounted their horses, Arthur found his gaze settling on the photographer in front of him. And when Albert twisted in his saddle to see him watching him, he smiled.

“I think the title of amateur artist suits you,” he said.

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. He spurred his horse on so he could catch up, “I ain’t sure about that.” He pulled out the packet of biscuits that had been the cause of so much trouble over the past two days, and threw them to Albert, who opened them and began eating.

“Well, I am!” He said through a mouthful. He swallowed and continued hastily, “You must purchase a proper canvas, so that others can appreciate your work.”

“Didn’t realize you had a desire to be admired by an audience, Mr. Mason.”

Albert choked on his food, coughing and spluttering as Arthur’s chuckles evolved into a full laugh.

“I – I didn’t mean the sketch of _me_. I merely assumed you had other subjects in that journal of yours, worthy of such attention.”

Arthur shrugged, “Nah. They’re mostly doodles. Plants and animals, really.”

“That’s how the greatest pieces start; as doodles. I foresee an incredibly successful career ahead of you, you know.”

Arthur’s smile faded, knowing the futility of those words, “That could never be more than a daydream, Mr. Mason.”

Albert shot him a contemplative look, “We all have our fantasies, sir. No harm in them. Besides, you never know what will come to fruition.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter: the obligatory misunderstanding.


	5. Big Valley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for your lovely comments, and for kudosing (?)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

It took just over an hour to reach Strawberry, interrupted as they were by Albert’s requests to stop and observe most animals they encountered and capture some of them with his camera. After a brief detour to the small town to fill up on supplies, they drew closer to their destination. The woods were quiet aside from the throaty calls of deer and faint squeals of boars, and Arthur cast his eye on the ground for any sign of the elusive buck. He was also acutely aware that this was cougar territory, something Albert liked to enthusiastically remind him of, and so he made sure his shotgun was loaded and readily accessible should they be ambushed.

“We’ll stop here,” he said, steering his horse off the path and through the trees. He could hear Albert behind him, marvelling at the scenery.

“What a sight! Quite beautiful, don’t you think?” He began withdrawing his camera equipment as Arthur collected his shotgun and rifle.

“Sure,” he said.

“Wonderful, wonderful,” Albert said to himself, focusing on his camera. “Where is this buck, then?”

“That’s what I’m tryin’ to figure out. Keep quiet, will ya?”

“Of course. My apologies.”

“Shh.”

Albert whispered, “Sorry.”

The two of them set off, Albert traipsing behind with his tripod leant against his shoulder while Arthur crept through the vegetation, taking note of broken sticks, tufts of fur, droppings; any clues that would lead them to the buck.

“Mr. Morgan,” Albert whispered. Arthur didn’t respond, too busy concentrating to pay any attention to the man behind him.

“Mr. Morgan,” he repeated, and Arthur sighed, turning his head.

“What?”

“I cannot help but notice you haven’t got your camera with you,” Albert whispered, his brows creased in a frown.

“Not now. I’m trying to focus.”

“I fear you’ve left it on your horse.”

“Stop talkin’.”

“You’re welcome to use mine, you know.”

“I don’t want your damn camera!” Arthur hissed. In the distance he heard a rustling, and he looked around in time to see the buck he had been searching for moving between the trees some distance away. He put down his shotgun and readied the rifle, glancing at Albert.

“Stay here and _keep_ _quiet_.”

“What are you doing with that thing?”

Arthur ignored him, creeping forward a few paces and looking down the barrel of the gun, steadying his aim.

“Mr. Morgan–”

“ _Mason_ ,” Arthur warned through gritted teeth, his eyes never straying from his target.

“Please don’t kill it–”

“ _Will you shut it_?” The buck had stilled, presenting Arthur with the perfect shot. He breathed slowly, the barrel drifting in line with the animal’s head, and…

And as he pulled the trigger, the cougar pounced.  

“ _Arthur!_ ”

He was thrown to the side, pain flaring across his chest as a heavy pressure landed on him, his rifle clattering away. A fierce growl instantly told him who his attacker was and Arthur reacted quickly, thrusting his arm up into the cougar’s throat just as its teeth snapped inches away from his face. His hand scrabbled at his belt, searching for his knife, but the cougar was relentless. A sharp pain flared as the cougar slashed at his chest and Arthur cried out, gritting his teeth and using his remaining strength to throw the cougar from him.

It writhed and recovered quickly, turning to face him as Arthur rolled onto his side, his eyes clenched shut while his hand found the knife. He swallowed, fully accepting he was about to lose this fight but determined nevertheless.

The attack never came though. Instead, a loud _crack_ echoed through the forest, a deathly silence following. Arthur opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder, barely believing the sight before him: Albert Mason clutching the shotgun, staring wide-eyed at the dead cougar behind Arthur.

“Oh my God,” he said faintly, “I killed it.”

“Don’t sound so… upset,” Arthur gasped. "Him or me." He collapsed onto his back, his hand hovering over his chest.

“Oh my God,” Albert repeated, his voice stronger. There was a rattle as he dropped the gun, and the next thing Arthur knew he was kneeling above him.

“Don’t – don’t panic,” Albert said, his hands flitting from Arthur’s shoulders to his shirt, “You’re just fine.”

“Don’t feel like it,” Arthur said, breathing heavily and fighting to ignore the pain.

“I’m just going to, ah, open your shirt, if – if that’s alright?”

Arthur wheezed, “You don’t gotta ask permission. Just do somethin’.”

“Do something. Yes… Yes.” He quickly unbuttoned Arthur’s shirt, pulling it open to reveal five long claw marks, the blood oozing from them trickling down his sides.

“S’it bad?” Arthur asked, lifting his head to see.

“Not at all. Quite ordinary, my friend.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Actually,” Albert murmured, “I mean it. Nasty looking but they appear shallow. Once we stop the bleeding, you’ll be well on your way to recovery.”

“Dress it…” Arthur muttered.

“Hmm?” Albert pressed his hands to the wounds and Arthur shouted, jerking up.

“Dress it. Don’t want… an infection.”

“Oh! Yes, you’re right. Whistle for your horse, if you will.” Arthur obliged, the sound weaker than usual, but he could hear the animal trotting over. “Can you stand?”

“Course I can.” He felt Albert’s arm around his shoulders as he sat up with a groan, his hand covering the photographer’s bloodstained one.

“Alright?” Albert asked softly, ducking his head to catch Arthur’s eyes. He rubbed his shoulders soothingly, frowning at Arthur’s nod. “Slowly, then. One, two, three!”

Standing was laborious, and Arthur had to fight to not let his legs give out and sink back to the ground. He’d been shot before, and the pain from this could not compare, but in Albert’s presence he allowed himself to _feel_ that pain, rather than bottling it up with a grimace like he would’ve in front of the gang.

“ _Shit_ ,” he hissed, trying to double over, but Albert stopped him.

“Yes, these next few minutes are going to be unpleasant.” He left Arthur to step over to the man’s horse, withdrawing his satchel. When he returned, he clutched Arthur’s arm and began guiding him across the uneven terrain.

“Where we goin’?” Arthur asked.

“The stream nearby. Need to wash it.”

They stumbled through the woods, Arthur tripping and cursing while Albert murmured encouragements. When they reached the stream, Arthur sat down with a grateful sigh, leaning against a large boulder. He watched as Albert soaked a spare shirt and knelt next to him, wiping gently at the wounds.

At the hisses Arthur produced, Albert winced, “I’m sorry,” he muttered, “Nearly done.”

“Just ignore me,” Arthur grunted, muffling a groan as Albert pressed the vest firmly to his chest.

The photographer smiled, “You may shout and curse the day I was born if it helps. I shan’t mind.” He drew Arthur’s satchel closer. “Keep your hand there, if you will.” He placed Arthur’s hand over the shirt, and with his hands free he began rummaging through the satchel.

“Crushed yarrow,” he explained, opening his palm, “Soothes the wound. Prevents inflammation.” Arthur chuckled.

“You don’t say.”

“Mmm.” Albert gently removed the sodden shirt and placed the crushed plant in its place, “A dear friend told me.”

Arthur rested his head against the boulder, “Sounds a wise man.”

“Oh no, he’s a stubborn fool,” Albert said, his eyes crinkling at Arthur’s laugh, “And there’s a ruthless streak I fear I’ll never comprehend.”

Arthur swallowed, closing his eyes as Albert wrapped bandages around his chest.

“But he defies that ruthlessness with kindness,” the photographer said quietly, so quiet that Arthur barely heard him over the trickling stream, “His eyes are sorrowful, but he smiles beautifully. He excels in playing dumb, but his mind is extraordinarily complex.” Albert finished wrapping the bandages, and he placed a hand over Arthur’s chest.

“He means a great deal to me,” he said, “I don’t know what I’d do if anything should happen to him.”

“Stop,” Arthur choked.

“Arthur–”

“Don’t,” he said harshly, “Please.” His opened his eyes and they fell on Albert, beseeching.

Albert gazed sadly at him, “If only you would see...” He stopped when Arthur turned his head away.

“I can’t…” Arthur breathed, defeat in his tone, “You’ve no right in tellin’ me–”

“I’ve every right,” Albert said quickly, leaning close. “Arthur.” His eyes stayed fixed on the other man’s face. “You must know. Surely you must know–”

“I’m a killer,” Arthur interrupted, turning to look at Albert, his tone sharp. “I killed people.” As Albert drew back, he continued, determined, “Murdered folks for the sake of a few dollars, strung up the ones who crossed me. And I ain’t past it. I find it easy, I’ll do it again.”

“Arthur–”

“No. Don’t. You’ve been ignorin’ what anyone else can see for the sake of a fantasy. You live with your head in the clouds, Mason, and it’s time you saw me for what I really am. I’m no gentleman, despite what you say. _I ain’t a good man_.”

Albert swallowed, his gaze falling to his lap, “I don’t believe you.”

“You better start, then.” He staggered to his feet, clutching his chest. “I’m a wanted man with a five thousand-dollar bounty, and if you possessed any sort of logic you’d turn me in right now.” He began stumbling to the horses, buttoning up his shirt.

“You showed me your journal.”

Arthur stopped. He turned, surprise flaring when he saw Mason marching up to him.

“You showed me your sketch, and I believe it’s _logical_ to presume there’s more than one. What kind of a killer nourishes a creative itch?” He shoved Arthur’s shoulder, ignoring the wince it produced. “You said it yourself, you’re an amateur artist. Amateur you may be, but there’s no denying that side to you, much as you like to.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know _you_ , Arthur Morgan!” He pushed again, and this time Arthur retaliated.

“You don’t know a _damn thing about me_!” he thundered menacingly, and one strong shove was enough to send Albert backwards. He landed heavily with a grunt, his hat falling off his head. Arthur stepped forward, gripping his shirt and yanking him closer.

“You really think you know me? Well do you think I enjoy the company of the likes of you? You’re a _distraction_ , Mason, nothing more.”

“You're as terrible a liar as me, Arthur,” he gasped. “I'm afraid you won’t persuade me that easily.” His eyes sparked a challenge, and he gripped the arm that was holding it up, “You’ve nothing to fear, I promise. Admit it.”

The outlaw stared at him, breathing heavily.

“ _Admit it!_ ”

He couldn't stop himself: Arthur hit him.

A cry broke the terrible silence as Albert clutched his cheek, curling in on himself on the ground. Arthur felt frozen to the spot, standing over the other man and unable to move. He watched as Albert breathed deeply, his eyes screwed shut. When he withdrew his hand and Arthur could see the angry red of his cheek, he stumbled away, his mouth dry.

Albert sat up slowly, collecting his hat from the ground nearby. He looked up at Arthur, his expression carefully devoid of any emotion.

“You compared me once to a caged bird,” he said softly, staring at his hat, “I find now that the tragic character is not me, but rather, you.” He stood up wearily, as if waiting for more from Arthur, “A killer or an artist; you cannot be both.”

Arthur turned away, “I’m sorry this expedition didn’t turn out the way you had hoped, Mr. Mason. Allow me the courtesy of escorting you home before we part ways.”

He strode over to the horses, Albert’s sombre, “As you wish,” trailing after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur why are u like this. Why am I like this.


	6. Flat Iron Lake

Silence had become their third companion. They’d spent the rest of the day in Strawberry, purchasing medical supplies from the general store to treat Arthur’s injuries properly before settling in for the night, their rooms separated by thin wooded walls. In the morning, they set off without speaking a word to each other, which suited Arthur just fine.

Arthur rode ahead, his thoughts a swirling storm, looking back every so often to check Albert was still behind him. The photographer would meet his eye with a hard gaze until Arthur turned away, and the uncomfortable journey continued.

As they passed Flatneck Station, Arthur made the decision to take a different route, opting for the path right rather than proceeding ahead across the Heartlands. Albert made no comment at the change but as Arthur looked back, he saw the photographer gazing at the large expanse of water that was Flat Iron Lake, a contented expression on his face marred only by the heated redness spread across his left cheek.

It was along this road that Arthur made the decision to stop. Any other day he would have been perfectly happy travelling onwards, but his chest was aching and he could tell Albert was tiring, even though the man had voiced no complaint.

“We’ll rest for a bit,” he called gruffly, encouraging his horse off the track and towards the sandy beach. Albert stayed quiet.

Arthur began making a fire, planning on staying for an hour or two. He knew they’d still reach Saint Denis by the end of the day, so there was little use in rushing. Once the fire was lit he walked over to his horse, intent on getting a snack from a saddlebag. Near his own horse, Albert was staring at something further down the beach.

“What?” Arthur asked, rummaging through the bag.

“Vultures,” Albert replied, the first thing he had said since they’d left Big Valley, “Over there.”

Arthur looked where he’d indicated, and there were indeed several vultures circling something out of sight. He could see Albert’s fingers fiddling with the straps holding his tripod in place, and as Arthur found a can of tinned strawberries he caught Albert’s eye.

“Gonna be here a while,” he said, and Albert nodded, looking grateful. He began unstrapping his tripod and soon he was hurrying across the beach, his hands full of equipment.

Arthur, meanwhile, settled himself by the fire, enjoying his strawberries. His gaze landed on the soft ripples of the lake and the ducks bobbing on the surface, and he tried to savor this moment of peace. They were so rare in his line of work and he’d begun appreciating them more and more recently. Now though, his mind was far from peaceful. He could hear the squawks from the vultures as Albert undoubtedly tried and failed not to disturb them, and his thoughts turned to the events of yesterday. He felt a twinge of pain from the scratch marks on his chest and he realized he hadn’t thanked Albert for saving him. Come to think of it, there were many things he hadn’t done when it came to that man. Hadn’t apologized for hitting him, to begin with, and the thought of that act stirred a pang of nausea in his gut.

He resolved then and there to amend things when Albert returned.

“Well, well! Lookie here, fellas! Arthur Morgan!”

O’Driscolls.

Looked like the apologies would have to wait.

Arthur tensed, and turned around to see six O’Driscolls making their way down the bank, their guns drawn. Slowly, he got to his feet, his eyes falling on the only available cover nearby: three large rocks, close to the road. He’d have to sprint if he didn’t want several bullets in his side.

“Afternoon, fellas,” he said, his hand hovering over his pistol as a warning for them to stay where they were. Thankfully, they obliged.

“Ain’t all that smart, Morgan, riding through O’Driscoll territory on your own.” The one who had spoken previously sneered at him, gesturing with his gun.

“A man can’t enjoy a quiet trip through God’s country?”

“Not when he’s in O’Driscoll county,” the man repeated, his voice stern.

“Well that’s a cryin’ shame.”

“Think you can talk your way outta this? That silver tongue won’t save you from everythin’.”

Arthur opened his mouth to retort, but a soft voice to his right send tendrils of fear through his heart.

“Arthur?”

The O’Driscoll’s gun swung towards Albert and Arthur didn’t think twice. He whipped his revolver from its holster and fired, hitting the man clean through the head.

“Mason, _go_!” he yelled, sprinting towards the rocks as the remaining gang members split up to find their own cover. He was relieved to see Albert had listened to him, turning and running in the direction he’d come from, his camera equipment forgotten.

Shots embedded themselves into the rocks as Arthur skidded behind them, ducking down and waiting for an opening. It came moments later and he sprang up, firing swiftly and taking out an O’Driscoll to his left before falling back to the sand again, just as more bullets sought him out. When he poked his head above the stone, he was dismayed to see the remaining four were advancing, revolvers ready. He collapsed against the boulder and reloaded his gun, his mouth dry. He wasn’t getting out of this unscathed.

“Over there!” Albert shouted.

The universe was relishing in contradicting him today.

He peered over his cover as more gunshots than could conceivably come from the O’Driscolls sounded. What he saw made him grin and stand upright.

 Sadie Adler and John Marston were galloping down the beach, their guns drawn and firing at the O’Driscolls, who were scrambling back towards their cover while shooting wildly at the arriving backup. Clutching Sadie’s waist, Albert Mason peeked over her shoulder, one hand holding onto his hat.

“Need a hand, Morgan?” John asked, sliding off his horse and firing rapidly as he made his way over to Arthur.

“If you’d be so kind,” he answered dryly. John crouched beside him, covering Sadie as she ran towards them.

“What mess you got yourself into this time?” she yelled, her hat flying off due to a stray shot.

“Not that I ain’t grateful,” Arthur said, “But what the hell are you two doin’ here?”

“I weren’t lying when I said I had business in Valentine,” Sadie answered in between shots, “Had to settle for Marston since you was busy.”

“We heard the shots but figured it weren’t our business,” John said, “If your fella hadn’t flagged us down, we’d have kept goin’.”

“Where is he?” Arthur tried to spot Albert, but he was kept too busy trying not to get shot by the three O’Driscolls left.

“Told him to take the horses and get away,” Sadie said. “If he’s smart, he’ll listen.”

“Oh, he’s smart alright.”

It took some time, but Arthur, Sadie and John were able to take down the O’Driscolls, their bodies spread across the sand. The three of them rose from the rocks cautiously, ready for any more surprise attacks. When none came, they relaxed.

“You two see what they’ve got on ‘em,” Arthur directed, “I’m gonna find Mr. Mason.”

He marched away from the bloody scene, holstering his gun and waiting for his heart to stop hammering. He’d been sloppy, and he was very aware that if John and Sadie hadn’t arrived – if Albert hadn’t found them – he would most likely be dead.

Albert himself was some ways down the beach, his back to Arthur, no doubt to avoid seeing the gunfight unfold.

“Mr. Mason!” Arthur called, and Albert turned. He looked lost, confused, and Arthur frowned, unsure why. It was only when he looked down, as his blood ran cold, that he understood.

Albert’s shirt was stained red.

“No,” Arthur muttered, breaking into a run as the other man stumbled towards him. “No, no, no, no, _no_.” He closed the distance between them and caught Albert as his legs folded, lowering him to the sand.

“Arthur–”

“You’re alright,” he growled, pressing one hand over Albert’s stomach and forcing it to remain there when Albert cried out.

“Tried to get away,” he gasped, “Wasn’t… quick enough.”

“Don’t talk. You don’t have to worry, they’re dead now.”

Albert cracked a smile, his face pale, “F-Funnily enough… that doesn’t put me a-at ease.”

“I mean this in the nicest way possible, Albert, but _shut up_.”

Albert fell quiet, his choked gasps the only sound coming from him as he gazed at Arthur, “You’ve never – never…”

“Here.” Sadie appeared opposite Albert, holding out her blue neckerchief. She looked grimly down at Albert. “Didn’t get a chance to properly say hello, Mr. Mason,” she said.

Albert wheezed a laugh, grimacing as Arthur applied the neckerchief to the gunshot wound, “P-Pleasure, Miss Adler.”

“It’s ‘Mrs’,” Arthur said distractedly. John crouched near him, his eyes dark.

“Valentine’s the best hope we got. Reckon we can get there in time?” he asked in a low voice as Sadie continued engaging Albert.

“Got no choice,” Arthur said. “Grab my horse, will ya?” John obliged, running off across the beach.

“Albert, hey,” he said, getting the photographer’s attention. “I’m gonna move you, alright? Ain’t gonna be pleasant, but it’s gotta be done.”

“Is this b-because I did the same to you… yesterday?” he asked faintly.

“You bet it is,” Arthur said, looking behind him at the sound of galloping hooves. John hopped off his horse and returned to Arthur’s side, shooting a glance at Sadie.

“Ready, Mr. Mason?” she asked. He clenched his eyes shut and nodded.

“Here we go,” Arthur said, placing Albert’s arm around his shoulders as he placed his hands under the man’s knees and arms, lifting and standing upright in one swift motion despite the strain in his chest.

“I’m gonna ride ahead,” Sadie said, rushing towards her horse, “Let the doctor know you’re comin’.”

Arthur marched over to where John was keeping his horse in place, letting go of the reins once Arthur was close and helping him lift Albert onto the animal. Albert groaned deeply and hunched over the horse’s neck while Arthur climbed on behind him, securing one arm around his waist and trying to avoid the injury.

“Sit up, Albert. That’s it. Lean against me. Now this next part’s gonna be even more unpleasant,” he said, taking up the reins and encouraging his horse into a gallop. “But it’ll be over soon.”

“Arthur,” Albert whispered, his eyes closed.

“Keep quiet, you’re alright.”

“Fallen to… nature’s…”

“Why don’t you ever listen to me?”

“…fiercest p-predator.”

“Enough with the poetry, ya hear?” He glanced down at the man who had his head resting against his shoulder, swallowing down his panic when he saw Albert’s eyes were still closed, “Open your eyes.”

Albert didn’t respond.

“Hey!” He squeezed Albert’s side and the effect was immediate; Albert gasped and his eyes flew open, struggling in Arthur’s grip to get away.

“Albert, Albert!” he shouted, and the man stilled at his voice, turning his head into Arthur’s neck and breathing heavily.

“Just keep lookin’ at me, you understand? Don’t – don’t close your eyes.”

“You must know…” he breathed his voice little more than a whisper.

“I do. I _do_ Albert, and once you’re better we’ll sit down and I'll apologize for being an ass and then you’ll gloat about being right, and we’ll – we’ll figure somethin’ out. But you can’t _close your eyes_.” He was rambling, he knew he was rambling, but Albert’s eyelids were slipping shut and he didn’t know was else to do.

Valentine sat tantalizingly out of reach, the livestock town appearing as an oasis amidst the open landscape. Arthur was pushing his horse to go as fast as possible, and he ignored the answering nickers and whinnies, internally promising to reward his steed once things had settled.

“Shoulda listened to those warnings,” he said, and Albert responded with a questioning hum.

“Mother Nature, ain’t that what you said when that muskrat bit you? Warning you against the expedition.”

Albert huffed a laugh, his fingers tightening where they rested on Arthur’s arm, “My fault… is it?”

“Certainly weren’t mine. I gave you plenty of reasons to leave.”

“L-Likewise,” Albert murmured. “You k-knew I was a fool. Stayed with me… anyway.”

Arthur swallowed, hating that he was having to strain to hear the other man, “Tell me Mr. Mason,” he said, affecting a formal tone, “Where’s your next expedition gonna take you?”

Albert didn’t answer.

“Mason. _Albert_.” Arthur squeezed him again but there was no response. He looked down and tried not to panic when he saw Albert’s eyes were closed.

“He still breathin’?” John called from his horse, glancing at Albert with a worried eye.

Arthur checked, “Yeah,” he said, his voice ragged.

“Almost there.” He was right: they were on the outskirts of the town, Albert’s salvation minutes away.

“Don’t you die on me, Mason,” Arthur muttered, “If there’s one thing you listen to, let it be that.”

They thundered down the main street, men and women jumping out of the way with curses, but as usual Arthur didn’t pay them any heed. His horse hadn’t fully stopped outside the doctor’s before he was leaping off, ready to catch Albert as he slumped sideways into his arms. John was already off his horse and holding the door open, and as he approached, Arthur could see the doctor in the doorway with Sadie behind him, ready to receive his patient.

“In here,” the doctor commanded, and Arthur carried Albert into the backroom and settled him on a table that had been set up in anticipation of their arrival. Albert looked deathly pale, his dark beard a stark contrast against his skin.

“He gonna be ok?” John asked from behind.

“I can’t be sure yet,” said the doctor, bending over Albert and unbuttoning his vest and shirt. He glanced up at the three of them, “Ma’am, do you mind assisting me?”

“’Course,” Sadie said, taking her hat off.

“You two can wait out there,” the doctor continued. “Close the store, would you?”

Arthur was about to argue, to insist that he wasn’t going anywhere, but John grabbed his arm and made him move, the door to the makeshift surgery slamming shut behind him with a final  _thud_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Valentine's doctor isn't running a sketchy side business


	7. Shady Belle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enter: the obligatory filler chapter

Arthur had consumed thirteen cigarettes by the time Sadie emerged from the doctor’s hours later, stepping out onto the porch where Arthur was sitting watching residents of the small town go about their lives while his seemed suspended in time. John had returned to camp after he’d gotten tired of Arthur ignoring his questions, mounting his horse with a last, “Don’t smoke too many of those,” before riding off, Arthur striking another match once he’d gone.

Sadie stood in front of him, her arms crossed and her face weary. Arthur dropped his eyes to her boots.

“He dead?” he asked, his voice more gravelly than he’d like.

“Not yet,” she answered, “He’s tougher than he looks. He’ll stay there overnight so the doctor can keep an eye on him.”

Arthur nodded, the first string of hope threading through him. “I need a drink.” He pushed himself off the wooded boardwalk and trudged down the street to the saloon, Sadie following behind him. It was late afternoon and the bar was empty except for a few men, slumped over tables or leaning into their glasses. Sadie pointed him to a table in the corner, and Arthur sat while she bought the drinks. When she returned she studied him with a sharp gaze.

“What,” Arthur asked, reaching for a glass. He grimaced as the contents burned his throat.

“Nothin’,” Sadie muttered, swirling her drink around its container. “Mr. Mason… he looked real bad, y’know.”

“I know. I saw him.”

“What,” she paused, frowning to herself, “What did them O’Driscoll’s do to him?”

Arthur stared at her, “They shot him,” he said, unsure why Sadie was asking something so obvious.

“And his face? Someone hit him real hard. Got a nice shiner on his cheek.”

Arthur’s mouth turned dry despite the alcohol, and he looked away, unable to meet Sadie’s gaze.

“Arthur.” Her voice was hard. He’d forgotten how easily she could read him.

“Mmm?”

She leaned forward, her eyes flaring. “Arthur Morgan, tell me you did not hit him.”

Arthur opened his mouth a few times, not knowing what to say. Eventually he settled on, “I didn’t mean to.”

“ _What the hell is wrong with you_?” Sadie hissed, “You find a man who don’t seem to care about your background, and you go and hit him?”

“He didn’t care because he didn’t know,” Arthur retorted.

“Of course he knew.”

“He didn’t,” Arthur repeated, his tone subdued.

Sadie raised an eyebrow, “You told him, then?”

“I had to. He… He needed to know.” He finished his drink, slamming the glass onto the table.

“Getting too close, was he?”

Arthur nearly spat his drink out. A coughing fit ensued, Sadie watching him until the coughs subsided.

“Take that as a yes, then.”

“The hell you on about?” Arthur grumbled, wiping his mouth.

“I know you like to play dumb, Arthur, but that ain’t gonna work on me. I’m getting us more drinks, and then you’re talking.” She rose from the table and marched back to the bar, leaving Arthur to panic. He glanced at the door and wondered if he should make a run for it, but when he looked back over to the bar Sadie was watching him as she waited for their drinks. She would tackle him if he tried to escape. Instead he could do nothing but sit and wait, his swirling thoughts his only companion.

“Alright. Spill.” The drinks landed with a _thunk_ and Sadie lit a cigarette, waiting.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“I don’t care.”

Arthur kept quiet, stubbornly refusing to cooperate. Even if he wanted to talk, he couldn’t get his words in order, didn’t know how to define the mess in his head.

As usual, Sadie was as perceptive as ever. Her gaze softened, and she titled her head to catch Arthur’s eye, “Just tell me about your trip, then.”

He could do that. He explained the route they took, the events that had occurred along the way to Strawberry, and he told her about the injuries he’d suffered from the cougar. She winced in sympathy and remained silent as he stuttered out what happened next, as he described Albert’s tender words while he patched his wounds and the overwhelming urge Arthur had felt to get away from it.

“He was… he kept talking and I didn’t want to hear it and… I dunno," he muttered, "Somethin' inside me told me to do whatever I could to shut him up. I – I told him I was a killer, yelled at him, insulted him… and when that didn’t work, I hit him.”

Sadie nudged a glass forward and Arthur took it, taking a swig.

“He kept callin’ me Arthur,” he added quietly, glaring at the table.

“Well that’s your name,” Sadie said with a smile.

“I know but…” He shook his head, “Not a lot of people call me Arthur. It sounded… odd, coming from him.”

“You two are friends, ain’t ya? No need for formalities between friends.”

“I guess,” he mumbled.

“Is it such a terrible thing, to let someone in?” Sadie asked quietly, leaning close. “What are you so afraid of?”

His thoughts drifted to Eliza and Isaac, to Mary Linton.

“I ain’t afraid of anything,” he said, his voice hoarse. “But in this line of work, there’s no room for… fantasies, despite what Mary-Beth thinks.” He cleared his throat and met Sadie’s eye. “Albert… he can’t be anything more than a pipe-dream.”

“Arthur…” Sadie trailed off, her expression somber.

“He’ll get hurt – hell, he _has_ been hurt, and it’s thanks to me. Those O’Driscolls were there for me, and because of that he could still _die_ –” He clammed up and took another swig of his drink, coughing slightly as it went down. “I won’t put him in danger again,” he said quietly, “Not when I can prevent it.”

* * *

The following morning Arthur was awoken from a distressing night terror by a loud banging, and it took a moment to realize he was back in his room at Shady Belle. Blearily, he clambered off his bed and opened the door, stepping aside as Sadie strode in.

“Jesus Christ, woman, _what_?” He closed the door as Sadie turned to him, looking excited.

“I rode to Valentine earlier–”

“You – it’s _morning_. What time was it?”

“That don’t matter. Listen, I spoke to the doctor, and–”

“Is Mason alright?”

“Let me speak, will ya?”

Arthur backed away, “Sorry. What is it?”

Sadie smiled, “He’s confident Mr. Mason'll make a full recovery. He’ll stay in Valentine until he’s strong enough to travel to Saint Denis.”

Arthur returned the smile, “God,” he uttered, sitting on his bed. “I didn’t dare think–”

Sadie sat beside him, “I know, but he’s gonna be just fine. Now, the doctor reckons it’ll be a few days yet until he can be moved, but we can take some of his things to him so he’ll be a little more comfortable, right? When–?”

“Hold on, hold on,” he interrupted, holding up his hands. “I ain’t going back.”

“You’re – what?”

He stood up, pacing across the floor. “I was serious about what I said yesterday. I ain’t putting Mason in anymore danger, and that means I ain’t gonna see him again.”

“That’s bullshit,” Sadie snapped, rising too. “You’re scared, is what you mean.”

“What the hell have I got to be scared about?" he argued,  "I’m just thinking this through.”

“There ain’t no thought in what you just said. So let’s pretend you didn’t say nothing and go back to planning when we’ll ride to Saint Denis.”

“Sadie. I’m serious,” he said, his tone stern. Sadie shook her head, a sour smile on her face.

“You’re never seeing him again?” she asked, her voice disbelieving.

“That’s right.”

“Don’t he get a say in that?”

“No.”

Sadie reached for the door knob, “You’re full of shit, Arthur,” she spat, striding out and slamming the door behind her.

* * *

What followed was a week of hard glares from Sadie, returning glowers from Arthur, and confused looking-between-the-two-of-them from everyone else. When Mary-Beth and Tilly noticed him watching Sadie ride out of camp with a bitter expression they tried to get him to open up, but he shook them off with gruff words. When John caught him holding Albert’s photograph of wolves close to the campfire he suggested they rob a homestead together, but he put the photo back in his satchel and refused. When Kieran found him throwing knives at a tree with a bored expression he offered to go fishing with him, but Arthur’s venomous scowl sent him scurrying closer to Lenny and Javier.

It was Charles who decided enough was enough. When Arthur marched about camp one afternoon demanding to know where his camera had gone, Charles intercepted the outlaw as he towered over Uncle and grabbed his arm, spinning and dragging him in the direction of the horses, the camp letting out a collective sigh of relief when the pair rode off.

Charles slowed them down as they reached the Heartlands, and Arthur could feel his mood lifting as he settled into the routine of tracking and hunting an animal. He dropped into the long grass, his mind focusing for the first time that week as he watched a rabbit eating a few feet away down the barrel of his varmint rifle. He could hear Charles shuffling somewhere behind him but he paid no attention to him, his finger flexing over the trigger as he lined up the shot.

_I am not going to kill one if it isn’t necessary!_

The shot went wild and the rabbit scarpered.

“ _Hell_ ,” Arthur shouted, sitting up in the grass and throwing his rifle to one side, his head falling into his hands. Charles strode over to him, perching nearby.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, his deep eyes searching Arthur’s face.

“Nothing,” Arthur muttered, his voice muffled behind his hands.

“Doesn’t look like nothing.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Alright.” Charles picked up Arthur’s rifle and held it out, prodding at Arthur’s hands with the butt of the weapon. “We’re not going back to camp until we’ve caught something. Let’s continue.”

Arthur gripped his gun and nodded, a grateful smile flickering across his face. Charles squeezed his shoulder and they returned to hunting.

Over the next hour or so Arthur killed a number of rabbits, the repetitive acts of following tracks, shooting, and collecting the carcasses blocking out all his invasive thoughts. Later, they found themselves in a wooded area, and Arthur had swapped his rifle for his bow as he stalked a deer. He could feel Charles watching him, crouched in the greenery as he pulled back the arrow and slowed his breathing. He released the arrow, and the deer fell.

“Reckon that’ll be enough,” Charles said, standing upright and following Arthur to the deer.

“Yeah,” Arthur replied. He hoisted the animal over his shoulder and whistled for his horse. Once he finished stowing their carcasses the two of them began the journey back to Shady Belle.

“Still feel like throttling Uncle?” Charles called, watching him with a concerned expression.

“I always feel like throttling Uncle,” he retorted, a laugh echoing his words, “But less so now. Thank you, Charles.” He glanced across and offered him a smile.

“Any time,” Charles responded. “I mean it.”

* * *

“He’s asking for you,” Sadie said sternly one morning, standing in his way as he tried to veer away from her. “And there’s no way in hell I’m letting you refuse.”

“Why do you care so much?” Arthur asked, his voice icy. “How’s it any of your business?”

“It’s my business because you’re my friend – despite the dumbass ideas you’ve put in your head – and I’m sick of watching you moping around botherin’ everybody. Get on your horse and go to Saint Denis. Here’s Mr. Mason’s address.”

“Been getting cozy with him, have you?” he muttered, reading the slip of paper she’d given him.

Her eyes narrowed. “Get out of here before I stop pitying you and start throwing punches instead,” she seethed, her nostrils flaring. She turned and strode away from him, her plaited hair bouncing against her back.

Despite what he liked to say, Arthur was a decent enough person to not leave things like that. He waited a beat before following Sadie to a clump of trees, where she leaned against a trunk with her arms folded.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, coming up behind her. She didn’t move. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“You can be a real bastard when you want to,” she retorted, her voice wavering.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “I know.”

She sniffed and coughed, shooting Arthur a weak glare as he came to stand beside her. “And I’m getting real sick of the bullshit coming outta your mouth.”

“I know,” he repeated, and Sadie scoffed, a soft smile etched across her face.

“You’re an idiot.”

“I get it.”

She glanced across at him, a frown etched on her face. “You know I collected that photo of you, from Mr. Mason. The one of you in that suit.”

He hummed in response, lighting a cigarette. He offered one to Sadie, and she accepted.

“I weren’t planning on staying. And I weren’t planning on keeping it from you.” She paused, taking a drag from the cigarette.

“But?”

“But Mr. Mason invited me in. Offered me tea.” She chuckled. “Insisted that I call him Albert and while we drank, he asked me questions about my life.”

Arthur frowned, “What did you tell him?”

She looked him in the eye. “I told him everything.”

Arthur inhaled quickly and began coughing. Sadie watched and waited.

“You can’t keep doing that,” he croaked, thinking back to the saloon a week ago.

Sadie huffed a laugh, looking to the marshland around them. “I told him about Jake, and our life in Colter. And about… what happened, with the O’Driscolls.” She stamped out the cigarette and tightened her arms across her body, Arthur watching with a furrowed brow.

“And then I told him about you and Dutch finding me, how you guys took me in, helped me heal." She paused, her gaze unfocused. "And Mr. Mason listened to me talk about things I never wanted to talk about and when I finished, he took my hand and said, ‘Would you allow me to take your picture? I don’t believe I’ve met anyone as strong-willed as you are, and I’d hate to forget you. My memory can be woefully disloyal.’”

Her eyes were glassy as she laughed to herself, shaking her head slightly.

“Then, while I was standing there waiting as Mr. Mason fiddled with his camera, all I could think was, this stranger has just listened to me incriminate myself and he still thinks I’m worth a picture. I am not letting Arthur Morgan forget about this man.”

She turned her attention back to Arthur, drawing three photographs from her pocket and handing them to him.

“So I collected your picture and said nothing about it to you, knowing that it would mean you’d return to Mr. Mason.”

Arthur looked at the photographs in his hand. The first was the one of himself in the studio, standing awkwardly in his suit and offering a small smile to the camera. The second was the one Sadie had described of herself, smiling warmly at the camera with her hands perched on her hips.

The third was the photo Arthur had taken, the day Albert had been bitten by a muskrat. The photographer was standing in the Dakota River, his face upturned and his expression so peaceful Arthur couldn’t stop himself from picking up his camera and immortalizing the scene.

“You stole my damn camera,” he muttered, staring at the photograph.

“I am not letting you forget about this man,” Sadie said, tapping the picture. “You can believe me now when I say he doesn’t care about your background because I’ve told him about it. I told him about it, you’ve told him about it, and last night he was clutching my hand and asking for you.”

Arthur was about to say something but Sadie grabbed his arm, his surprise at the gesture keeping him quiet. “Mr. Mason is a good man, Arthur. As good a man as my Jake. If what we had together is anything like what you feel for Mr. Mason then you _cannot_ walk away,” she whispered, her eyes imploring. “It kills me watching you try.”

“I don’t deserve him,” Arthur said, his eyes still on the photograph, “I done things that–”

“ _Enough_!” Sadie pleaded, “That brain of yours works against you, Arthur. You gotta stop thinking all the time and start listening to this right here.” She prodded his chest, making step back. “What happened with them O’Driscoll’s, that was bad luck. If you weren’t with him, they would have come across Mr. Mason on his own and killed him. You didn’t doom him, Arthur, you _saved_ him. Tell that to your treacherous mind the next time it’s trying convince you otherwise, ya hear?”

Arthur swallowed, “Sadie, I can’t–”

Sadie smiled, her grip tightening on his arm as she led him across camp. “Yes you can. Arthur Morgan, you are gonna get on your horse, you’re gonna ride to Saint Denis, and you’re gonna tell that man how you really feel.”

He walked as if he was in a trance, letting her lead him to his horse.

“Wait,” Sadie said, and when Arthur turned to her she pulled him into a tight hug, her arms wrapped around his neck. He froze in surprise for a moment before hesitantly sliding his arms around her waist and hugging her back. When she drew away, he frowned at her.

“What was that for?”

“You been lookin’ like you need one for days,” she replied with a smile, “and I'm sorry I was harsh with you instead.” 

Arthur ignored the blush he could feel creeping across his cheeks as he mounted his horse, blinking down at Sadie when she squeezed his knee.

“Don’t be scared,” she said.

“What the hell have I got to be scared about?” he uttered, some of his resolve trickling back into him.

Sadie grinned up at him. “There’s the Arthur Morgan I know. You come straight to my tent when you return, you understand? I wanna know everything.” She stepped back as Arthur manoeuvred his horse and spurred it onward with a shout, the galloping hooves matching the rhythm of his heart.

 _You’re gonna ride to Saint Denis_.

His hands tightened their grip on the reins, feeling clammy despite the humid temperatures.

 _You're gonna tell that man how you really feel_.

His breaths increased in frequency and he struggled to calm them, ignoring the whispers at the back of his mind.

 _Don’t be scared_.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which the author gives arthur a break for once
> 
> also smoking isn't cool, kids. this has been a psa


	8. Saint Denis (Part 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends, sorry for making you wait longer than usual! Take these two chapters for the price of one as an apology! This chapter and the next one were originally the same, longer one, but I didn't want these scenes to be forgotten in lieu of what's in the next chapter so I broke it up. But bc this one's shorter than the others I would have felt too guilty making you wait for the next one, so you get them both now!
> 
> also it's ∼dramatic∼
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!

By the time he arrived in Saint Denis, Arthur had turned his horse around and headed back to camp eight times, each instance resulting in a mental scolding as he forced himself in the direction of the city. He studied the address Sadie had given him, peering at the buildings as he passed them, wondering how close he was.

Soon enough he found Albert Mason’s apartment, and after hitching his horse nearby he strode up the steps and knocked loudly before he could change his mind. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was expecting to happen, it was unlikely Albert would be healthy enough to get up and answer the door, but Arthur thought perhaps the doctor was paying the photographer a visit.

When nobody answered he tried the door and was relieved to find it unlocked. He stepped inside and glanced about the narrow hallway, his eyes falling on the stairs. White tiles lined with navy blue covered the floor, and Arthur’s boots echoed as he crossed the hallway, his gaze flickering to the closed doors at the end of the corridor. Albert would most likely be upstairs, he decided, and so he headed up, hovering in an open doorway and looking in.

It was a small bedroom and in the middle of it, lying on a slim bed, was Albert. His eyes were closed and while he wasn’t the deathly touch of white he’d been the last time Arthur had seen him, he still had a pale tint to his cheeks and forehead that made the cream shirt he was wearing seem a warmer shade. Arthur moved further into the room, his gaze glued to the other man. There was a lonely wooden chair near the bed and he perched on it, wondering who else had been sitting by Albert’s bedside.

He cleared his throat, “Mr. Mason?” His voice seemed intrusive and loud within the small room, even though it had been only a murmur. Albert didn’t react, the slow rise and fall of his chest the only indication that he was actually alive. Hesitantly, Arthur placed his hand on Albert’s arm, a small thread of relief lining his heart when he felt the warmth of the photographer’s skin.

The plan to tell Albert how he felt had been halted when Arthur saw he wasn’t awake. Now, sitting next to the sleeping man, he wasn’t quite sure what to do. Wait for Albert to awaken? Leave and come back another time? Or leave and never come back at all? That last option was becoming very tempting.

His eyes strayed to Albert’s face, to the faint bruising that marred his cheek. It had been a week, yet the result of Arthur’s actions was still visible, a taunting reminder of the damage he had inflicted upon Albert’s life, whether intentional or not. His thoughts flickered back to the day on the beach, to the O’Driscoll’s attack, to Albert’s solitary figure watching him with wide eyes as he rushed to catch him. Albert’s pain-stricken face haunted him when he lay in bed at night, the image of the photographer’s eyes slipping closed jolting him awake, leaving him gasping and breathing heavily in his silent room.

Arthur leaned forward to rest his head in one hand, leaving his other clutching Albert’s arm. He scrubbed at his eyes, sighing heavily.

“Helluva mess, Mr. Mason,” he muttered.

“Hello?”

A voice from the door startled him out of his thoughts and he lurched upright in his chair, ripping his hand from Albert. A dark-haired woman was stood in the doorway, clad in a green floral dress and watching him with a frown. Her eyes jumped from him to Albert.

“Who are you?” she demanded, but it was impossible to miss the strain of nervousness in her tone.

“Arthur,” he answered warily, slowly standing up. “Morgan.”

“Arthur Morgan? Oh. Albert’s described you.” Her stance became more relaxed as she came into the room, sitting in the chair Arthur had vacated. She looked up at him with a smile, “I understand you’ve saved him from his deceptively perilous profession.”

“You – you’ll have to excuse me, I’m afraid Mr. Mason hasn’t mentioned you, Miss…?”

“Dorothy Mason,” she answered, and Arthur unconsciously took a few steps back. “I’m not surprised, you know. He’s so devoted to his work, I imagine he speaks of little else.”

“You’re, uh, right. I had no idea…” He stopped his stammering, watching as Dorothy Mason held Albert’s hand. She spun suddenly, her bright eyes seeking out Arthur’s.

“Perhaps you can help me, Mr. Morgan,” she said, “Nobody has been able to tell me what exactly happened to Albert. I received a letter last week with his enclosed address and a short note from a doctor telling me he’d been hurt terribly, but that’s all I’ve been able to glean. I don’t suppose you know, do you?”

“He was shot,” Arthur replied from the doorway, his arms crossed.

“I know that much,” Dorothy retorted, frustration bleeding into her tone. “I spoke with the doctor as soon as I arrived in Saint Denis, but he couldn’t tell me why… why anyone would want to shoot him.” She trailed off, her eyes falling on Albert.

He didn’t want to tell her, didn’t want to relive what had happened, but her mournful expression as she watched the photographer – her _husband_ – broke his resolve.

“It was an accident,” he muttered, and Dorothy whipped her head round to look at him.

“You were there?” she demanded, her eyes beseeching. Arthur nodded.

“We were attacked. O’Driscoll’s. A nasty bunch, and they caught us unawares. I couldn’t–” He gestured to Albert. “We were lucky Valentine was near. It’s a small livestock town,” he explained at her uncomprehending frown, “Has a doctor. He was able to save him.”

“You got him to – to Valentine?”

He nodded again, “Barely.”

She launched herself out of the chair and threw her arms around him, Arthur stumbling backwards and catching her out of reflex.

“Forgive me,” she mumbled into his shirt. He could feel her fingers tightening in his collar. “I’ve been so worried about him, and–” She stepped away, swiping at her eyes and huffing a laugh at Arthur’s shell-shocked face. “It’s… it’s relieving to know he’s had you to look out for him. He's very fond of you, you know.” She returned to the chair, rubbing at her forehead. “He’s all I’ve got,” she added in a small voice. “I tried to talk him out of it. Out of leaving New York.”

“Sounded to me like he didn’t much like it there,” Arthur said, regaining the ability to speak. He wanted nothing more than to get out of the place, get away from the loving couple in front of him, but some masochistic part of him rooted his feet to the floor, making him stay.

“He hated it,” Dorothy said with another breathy laugh, “I knew there was no persuading him, but I had to try. We’ve no family, and the thought of something happening–” She stopped as her voice hitched, and she took a breath, “Thank goodness you found him, Mr. Morgan.”

“I’m real glad myself,” he muttered, and Dorothy shot him a warm smile.

“When he wrote to tell me he was abandoning the wildlife photography for a life in a studio, I was thankful even as I knew he’d loathe it. I sent him some dresses I no longer had use for to cheer him up, thinking he might employ them as costumes. I don’t even know if he uses them, but I hoped he’d appreciate the thought. If nothing else, they were a reminder of home.”

“He uses them,” Arthur assured her, his voice weak. “He offered a dress to my friend, when we visited.”

“He did? Well, I’m glad to hear that.” Arthur watched as she squeezed Albert’s hand again, and finally, he felt able to move.

“It’s been, uh, real nice meeting you, ma’am. I better be off, though. I was just poppin’ in.”

“Oh,” Dorothy got to her feet, holding out her hand, “Please don’t hesitate to call again, Mr. Morgan. I’m sure Albert would be thrilled to see you when he’s awake again.”

Arthur shook her hand, trying to flash her a convincing smile, “I shall try. Good day.”

All through the ride back to camp, Arthur felt as though he’d been doused in cold water. His fingers felt numb and he wondered vaguely if he’d be able to unfurl them from the reins. He should have known – _he should have known_! Albert was a married man, of course he was, and here Arthur was thinking not only was he a bachelor but that his interests veered towards men. He could see now he hadn’t been thinking. He had been hoping, fantasizing, and now he’d been made the fool. It was what he deserved, and if there was any silver lining to glean from this situation it was the knowledge that Albert had someone who cared for him, and it wasn’t the deadbeat, waste of space that was Arthur.

It wasn’t much of a silver lining, the more he thought about it.

The camp was quiet when he arrived, a fact he was very glad of. Sadie, though, had obviously been waiting for him, for she appeared out of nowhere as he was hitching his horse, a knowing smile on her face.

“Well?” she asked, nudging him.

“Well what?” he asked tersely as he strode over to the decrepit house.

She faltered in her steps next to him, frowning at his tone. “Well, what did you do?”

He stopped on the doorstep, swivelling to face her. “What makes you think it was something _I_ did?”

She raised a brow, “Isn’t it usually?”

Arthur shook his head, continuing on his path up the stairs, ignoring the sounds of Sadie following him.

“Hey–” she began, and Arthur had a sudden urge to shut her up. He stopped again and turned, towering above her on the staircase.

“What happened is that _he’s married_ ,” he spat. “I met her and she’s real charming, and I was gonna take him away from her.”

“Married?” Sadie echoed, hurrying after the outlaw as he marched upstairs. “Arthur, wait.” He ignored her, though, crossing the small space to his room and closing the door. Sadie thrust her foot forward just in time and prevented it from closing completely.

“You weren’t taking him away if you didn’t know.” she said, trying to push the door open further.

“It don’t matter. Move your foot.”

“’Course it matters,” she retorted. “You’re sure Mr. Mason’s married? I was convinced he–”

“The lady’s last name is Mason; that’s pretty convincing to me.” He reached out and pushed her away, slamming the door shut before she could react.


	9. Lannahechee River

Arthur wasn’t allowed to wallow for as long as he had after Albert had gotten shot. Three days passed in which he stayed away from everyone in camp and their questioning looks, opting instead to go hunting with Charles and rob homesteads with John. He even went fishing with Kieran one evening, grabbing the timid man and dragging him to the horses after he’d spotted Sadie heading towards him.

The following afternoon, though, she caught him as he was carrying buckets of water over to Pearson’s wagon, and he chose not to risk Mrs. Grimshaw’s wrath by dropping the buckets so he could escape. Instead, he sighed and resigned himself to whatever Sadie was going to say.

“Wanna get out of here?”

He was not expecting her to say that.

“No.” he said shortly, walking past her.

She caught up. “I’m sick of the girls askin’ me what’s up with you, and Dutch and Hosea cornered me too y’know. I had to act stupid and pretend I didn’t know what they were talking about.” She grimaced as she snatched a bucket from Arthur to lessen his load. “So the sooner you get outta this grump the better it’ll be for me.” She flashed him a smile but he didn’t return it. They reached Pearson’s wagon and dumped the buckets.

“I ain’t in the mood,” Arthur said, wiping his wet hands down his shirt and crossing his arms.

“I know,” Sadie said softly, “I ain’t gonna pester you about… about Mr. Mason. I’m just tryna cheer you up, so let me, will ya?” She nudged him again, bumping into him until he lightly shoved her away, a small smile toying at his lips.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked, and Sadie smiled victoriously.

“You like fishing, don’t you?”

Arthur huffed a laugh as they headed towards the horses. “Sure. Better with you than Kieran. Last time we went, his rod was shaking so bad I couldn’t catch anything.”

“That’s cos he’s terrified of you,” Sadie said with a laugh. “I saw you running away from me. Can’t imagine you was in a good mood, and poor Kieran had to bear the brunt of it.”

“He’s a fool,” he said, mounting his horse. Sadie saddled up next to him, and they rode out of the camp.

“ _You’re_ the fool, Arthur Morgan. You let that kid be.”

“I’ll think about it,” he conceded. “Where we headed?”

“South. The Lannahechee River, near Braithwaite Manor. Supposed to be a good fishing spot.”

“And a good panther spot,” Arthur muttered, “Not sure I’m ready to face another big cat just yet.”

“Eh, I’ll watch over you t–” She coughed suddenly, drawing Arthur’s attention to her.

“Y’alright?” he asked, frowning in concern.

She swallowed, staring ahead of her, “Yep. Yeah, I’m fine. Just the tail-end of a cough. Had it all week.”

Arthur was still frowning, “I never heard you.”

“That’s cos you was too busy running away from me.”

“That’s fair,” he conceded.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, a pitiful cough emerging from Sadie every so often which always resulted in a confused look from Arthur. He said nothing though, deciding to devote his thoughts to their surroundings and appreciating the fact that he wasn’t holed up at Shady Belle, flanked by persistently inquisitive camp members.

Soon enough they reached the wooded area that adjourned the shore to the Lannahechee River, and they slowed the horses down to a gentle walk.

“There’s a clearing just through here,” Sadie said. “We can leave the horses there.”

Sure enough the trees made way for a small clearing, a bank leading to the river visible on the other side. The area wasn’t empty, however, and Arthur’s heart suddenly began thudding heavily against his ribcage.

Albert Mason was sitting on a blanket, his back to the two of them as he looked out across the river.

Arthur halted his horse. “Sadie Adler,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his eyes boring into Albert’s back. “What did you do?”

“What are the chances?” Sadie asked innocently, looking at Arthur with an excited smile. “Let’s go say hello.”

“A cough, was it?” he retorted with a glare, satisfied at the blush that crept across her cheeks. “Or was that a lie to cover the fact you were about to let something slip?”

“You were never gonna listen to me,” she said quickly, coaxing her horse forward, “You just need to talk to him. Come on.”

“Sadie–”

“Mr. Mason!”

Albert startled and twisted to see her, a smile already on his face. “Mrs Adler, hello! I – oh.” His smile fell and Albert scrabbled to his feet, his hands wavering by his side as he watched Arthur get off his horse.

“Hope you don’t mind the extra guest, Mr. Mason,” Sadie said jovially as she strode over to him.

“No, no, of course not,” Albert said distractedly. He blinked and a faint frown creased his forehead. “Um, actually, I expected–”

“I thought I’d go right ahead and catch our dinner while you set up a fire, sound good?”

“Sadie.” Arthur bit out, standing rigidly by his horse.

“Um…”

Sadie withdrew a fishing rod from her saddlebag and flashed a cheery smile. “See you fellas in a bit.”

“Don’t–” Sadie danced away as Arthur made to grab her, and she hopped off the bank and landed out of sight before either man could say anymore.

“I shoulda known,” Arthur muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. Albert slid his gaze over to him, his dark eyes cautious.

“Would you mind terribly starting the fire?” he asked, his voice subdued. “I was actually hoping to explore a little first.” He bent and picked up his camera and tripod, clutching it to his chest.

“Uh, Mr. Mason…” He trailed off as Albert scampered into the woods, leaving Arthur standing in the clearing, trying desperately to process what the hell was happening. His eyes drifted to the bank, and he jumped when Sadie’s head suddenly appeared above it, her expression stern.

“ _Go,_ ” she mouthed.

Arthur shook his head.

“ _Go_!” She pointed after Albert, her eyebrows raised at Arthur’s refusal.

“ _No_!” he mouthed back.

Sadie raised her fishing rod threateningly and Arthur went, jogging into the forest after Albert. It wasn’t difficult to find him; his tripod was perched on the bank further down the river, and Albert was staring through the viewfinder, presumably focusing on the ducks bobbing on the water. Arthur noticed the way his hands shook as he fiddled with the equipment, and he cleared his throat and shuffled his boots through the leaves, deciding not to startle the man this time. Albert didn’t react.

“Didn’t think ducks were all that threatenin’,” he said, stopping a few feet from the photographer. He heard Albert sigh.

“I take what I can get. Sometimes it’s predators, sometimes it’s… ducks.”

“Woulda thought you’d be more interested in the panther roamin’ round here.”

“There’s a–?!” Albert straightened suddenly and turned, but he stopped himself from saying anything else. He returned to his camera, withdrawing a small notebook from his pocket and jotting something down. “I think we’ve learned our lesson with animals such as those, don’t you?”

Arthur wasn’t sure if he was referring to the attack or Arthur’s outburst that occurred afterwards, and he didn’t ask, not feeling any desire to clarify.

“Mr. Mason–”

“You really don’t have to be here, you know. I shan’t be offended if you wish leave.” He was still scribbling in his notebook, his back to Arthur.

“I don’t want to leave.”

Albert snorted, “Doesn’t look like it.”

“I was surprised, is all. Mrs. Adler is a deceptive woman.”

“I’ve found her to be a wonderful friend to me.”

“She’s devious,” Arthur muttered, more to himself.

Albert spun, his eyes blazing. “I am not in the mood for jokes, Mr. Morgan. Please, leave me alone.”

“I want to speak with you–”

A derisive laugh spluttered from Albert “You’ve no right,” he snapped, angrier than Arthur had ever seen him be as he threw Arthur’s words back in his face. “You don’t get to… to  _choose_  when to speak with me, when to see me.”

“I did see you. You were asleep.”

“And did you come back? Did you stay longer than ten minutes? Or did you run, back away like you always do?”

Arthur took a step forward, “I–”

“Did you never consider what I might want?” Albert interrupted, stepping nearer the bank’s edge as Arthur got closer. “I was… I was  _scared_ , Arthur, I’d just been  _shot_ , and you were nowhere to be seen. I thought you’d abandoned me, left for reasons that were my fault and all I could do for two weeks was sit in bed and wonder what I’d done. I felt… completely alone.” His tone was quiet as he looked to the ground.

“You had your wife with you, it couldn’t have been–”

“My wife? What wife? I don’t have a wife.”

Arthur blinked, concerned for a moment that he had imagined the woman in Albert’s room. “Dorothy…” he offered, unsure.

Albert sighed, rubbing his closed eyes. “Is my sister, you… colossal idiot.”

“Your sister,” Arthur repeated blankly, remembering that Dorothy hadn’t corrected him when he’d called her ‘Miss’, realizing that having the same surname didn’t necessarily equal a married couple, and finally noting the physical similarities between the two; not to mention the similar dialect they possessed.

“Oh.” he said.

“Dorothy told me she met you. Is that why you stayed away?”

Arthur nodded. “Partly.”

Albert turned away, “I don’t even want to know the other reasons,” he said, sounding tired, and Arthur wondered how much he had recovered from his wound.

“Mr–”

“ _Don’t_. Just… leave me be, Arthur.”

Arthur considered it. He was feeling incredibly uncomfortable, and a part of him was begging to get away from there, to find the nearest bar and forget about everything for a few hours. He squashed that urge, though, and remained where he was, determined to do what he’d planned three days ago.

He was also very aware that if he tried to leave, Sadie would drag him straight back.

He cleared his throat, stuffing his shaking hands in his pockets as he began walking closer. “I have a friend who admires this land greatly. Said there weren’t nothing like it.”

Albert bent his head, shaking it slightly. “He sounds a wise man,” he offered.

“He’s a fool.”

Albert let out a short laugh, as if he’d tried not to. “I have to disagree.”

“You, Albert Mason, are a fool for ever engaging someone like me.”

“Someone like you?” Albert asked, looking over his shoulder at Arthur, one brow raised.

“A colossal idiot.”

Albert smiled as he turned fully to face Arthur. He slowly moved back as Arthur advanced, his hands betraying his nervousness as he fiddled with his notebook.

“I don’t think–” He yelped suddenly as he stepped over the edge of the bank, his foot slipping on the loose dirt. His arms flailed and Arthur darted forward, grabbing his shirt and pulling him nearer, away from the bank. Albert clutched his collar, gasping heavily.

“How many time’s that?” he asked, releasing the photographer and waiting for Albert to let go as well. “I’m beginning to think you’re doing this on pur–”

Albert abruptly tugged his collar closer and then they were kissing, Arthur’s hands half raised as he froze in shock. His brain kicked his body into gear soon enough, though, and he grabbed Albert’s waist, matching Albert’s eagerness as he returned the kiss. Albert pushed forward, his hands moving to cup Arthur’s face as they stumbled, and when his back hit a tree he grunted, causing Albert to pull away.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he gasped, his cheeks red.

“S’alright, shut up.” Arthur pulled him closer again into a softer kiss than the first, taking the time to appreciate the experience as his hands roamed up Albert’s chest. He heard the photographer’s breath hitch and he immediately stopped, letting go.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked gruffly, his fingers ghosting over Albert’s shirt.

“It’s fine, just not… fully healed, yet,” he said with a small laugh. His eyes were glued to Arthur’s face, and when Arthur noticed, he could feel himself blushing.

“Your hat,” he murmured.

“Hmm?”

“Fell off. Here.” He stepped around Albert and stooped to pick up the straw boater, placing it back on the photographer’s head and soaking in the smile Albert produced.

“You sure about this?” he asked, his positive mood dimming for a moment. “You know who I am, the kind of life I lead. It’s no life for someone like you.”

“I make my own choices, Arthur,” Albert said softly, placing his hands on his arms. “I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to accompany you on that expedition, and I know what I’m getting into when I do this.” He pressed a short kiss to Arthur’s lips.

“Albert, I done things…” He began, but Albert cut him off.

“This heart of yours,” He tapped Arthur’s chest, “speaks far more than your past. You would have had your reasons, and that’s enough for me.”

“I can’t just… turn it off. I get angry, sometimes, I can’t help it.”

“I know,” Albert whispered. “We’ll think of something, alright? I have faith in you.” He smiled brightly, “I’ve seen your journal, remember?”

Arthur returned the smile, “Am I gonna regret that?”

“Unquestionably.”

“An amateur artist,” Arthur echoed, remembering what Albert had said in Big Valley. “I think I can, uh, focus on that artistic side, right now.”

Albert’s smile was blinding. “I told you I knew you, Arthur Morgan.” He gathered his camera equipment and began making his way to the clearing, taking Arthur’s arm and tugging him along. “I insist on seeing all your sketches, right this instance. Oh.” He stopped suddenly, seeing Sadie sitting on the blanket. “Will Mrs. Adler, um…?”

“She understands,” Arthur said. “I’m rather sure most of this was her doing.” They continued closer to the blanket, where Sadie was cooking a fish over a fire.

“Lure us both to neutral ground and trap us together?”

“I told you, she’s devious.”

“Not a wonderful friend?”

“You don’t know her well enough, Albert. We should leave while we can.”

“You boys hungry?” Sadie called, spotting their approach.

“Too late.”

Albert chuckled as they sat down and accepted the food Sadie offered. They ate in relative silence, broken only by Sadie and Albert chatting to each other, with Arthur interjecting each time one of them teased him. As the evening drew closer Sadie yawned and stood up.

“Well, I’m calling it a night fellas. You two staying here?” she asked nonchalantly, whistling for her horse to come closer.

“For a bit,” Arthur answered, looking across to Albert, who blushed.

“See you later, then. Arthur, you know where to find me.” She gave him a meaningful look, and Arthur rolled his eyes as Albert said goodbye. She clicked at her horse and soon galloped out of sight, leaving the two of them alone.

“C’mere,” Arthur said, laying back on the blanket and holding out his arm. Albert tucked himself next to Arthur, resting his head on his shoulder.

“I got a family… of sorts,” Arthur said, staring up at the purple-tinted sky. “And I can’t leave them, not yet.”

“I understand,” Albert answered.

“But that don’t mean you can’t be a part of my life, too. To be honest, I don’t think Sadie would allow it.” He cleared his throat. “So the next time you need an escort as you track an animal, or you want to embark on some form of expedition, I’ll make the time to come with you.”

He squeezed Albert’s arm. “It ain’t the best promise, but right now, it’s all I can give you.”

“I understand, Arthur. Don’t worry.”

“Things are… different. I don’t know how. We got involved in some bad business. If it ever–” He swallowed. “If it ever gets out of control, I promise I’ll get out. I’ll get out, and I’ll come to you.”

“They’re your family–” Albert protested.

“You underestimate how much you mean to me,” Arthur argued. “When that O’Driscoll shot you... I hadn’t been that scared in a long time. I don’t ever want to put you in danger like that again. So, if things get crazy, I’ll find you and we’ll leave, we'll go somewhere you can take pictures–”

“And you can draw,” Albert finished.

“Uh… sure.” He laughed. “I was trying to be serious.”

“And it was upsetting you,” Albert said, leaning on one arm and looking down at him. “You mustn't worry about such things. When –  _if_ – the time comes, we shall work something out. I’ve no plans to leave you any time soon.” He tilted his head and they kissed, Arthur’s hand cradling the back of his head. When they drew apart, Albert returned to Arthur’s shoulder and the two of them watched as stars emerged in the sky.

“I’d have to get Sadie out first,” Arthur said, out of the blue. “And Marston. You don’t know Marston. Actually, you do, but I doubt you remember him. He’s a dumbass, but he’s got a family of his own. And–”

“We’ll help anyone who needs it,” Albert said, patting his chest. “Is your mind always so stubborn? I told you not to worry.”

“It’s never been called that before.”

“Arthur Morgan, you are the most stubborn man I know.”

Arthur looked down at him, “I can think of someone just as bad.”

Albert smiled, his eyes twinkling, “Well, I’ve seen a glimpse of your life, how interested would you be in seeing a slice of mine?”

Arthur squinted suspiciously, “Does it involve going to New York?”

The photographer leaned up on one arm again. “You can’t pull a face if you’ve never been.”

“You hate it there.”

“Oh I loathe it. But seeing Dorothy again," He shrugged. "I can’t explain it. I had a sudden desire to return to the city. Not forever. As some form of vacation, you know? Take the man out of New York, and all that.”

“Albert. Look at me. Now imagine me in New York.”

Albert laughed, his crow’s feet wrinkling. “That’s a picture I would  _have_ to take.”

Arthur knocked the straw boater off his head, smiling at the shout of protest. “If –  _if_  – I came with you, you would do no such thing.”

“If, hmm? I’m sure I could persuade you to change that to  _when_.”

Arthur held his shirt, pulling him closer. “And how would you do that?”

Albert’s lips brushed his, a smile forming, “I’m sure I can think of a few ways.”

It started with a challenge, and ended with a fantasy. 

 

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! I hope you liked it, it's been great dipping my toe into this fandom. Come find me on tumblr if you like, I'm @sadieadlerscoat, and if you've got requests or anything similar I'm open to them
> 
> Thanks again for reading, and thanks for all the lovely responses!


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